The night pressed close around the small, weathered house as Eleanor reached the gate, her steps slowing after hours of walking along darkened roads and fading paths. She paused, steadying herself, then approached the door and knocked, the sound dull and hollow in the quiet. After a long moment, it opened just enough for the lamplight to spill across her face—and for the old man’s unblinking eyes to settle on her. Eleanor inclined her head politely, keeping her hands visible, her posture composed despite the fatigue pulling at her shoulders. She explained, in a calm and measured voice, that she had been traveling since before sunset, that the distance had been farther than anticipated, and that continuing through the night would be unwise. If he had a spare room, a bench, even a place near the hearth, she asked if she might stay until morning, promising to leave at first light and cause no trouble. The air between them grew still as she finished speaking, the lamp flickering softly behind him while he stood motionless in the doorway, saying nothing—only watching, as though weighing far more than her request.