There was a shack up ahead. It looked sufficient. It had a sound roof, four walls and an open door. The man stopped dead in his tracks. How could he have missed it before? This was an opportunity not to be missed. His sudden lack of movement reminded him just why he had been scampering quickly. It was cold enough to, well... be very cold. The wind rattled the door on it hinges and the branches of the trees nearby too. He began to shiver. Indecision gripped him for all of three seconds, before he bolted for the door. All thoughts he had of catching something for the pot gone.
In haste to enter, he found himself skidding on a wax polished floor. Frantically he grabbed the doorknob for support. It pulled the door shut behind him with a frightful bang. Nose red and fingers numb he shuddered, as his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room. Glowing light crackled from the fire pit in the centre, of what had appeared to be a shack. Shadows loomed close, but even so he could sense that the room held far more than what had appeared outside. He dared to take a breath. For some reason he found that he had been holding it. Familiar scents filled his nostrils: spice, honey, and pine. Wary he peered into the shadows and dim shapes took solid form. Along the panelled wall hooks stood shoulder high, and a treeherd swayed in the corner. Lowering his bow he squinted at the unlikely sight. He was mistaken; it was a hat-stand.
Rubbing his stomach, he cursed the anxious hunger there. It was playing on his mind, too much. The pine smoke swirled, stirred by the air currents and beyond the fire pit he felt he could see oval shields lining the walls. Also beyond alcoves promised stairwells. The far end of the hall appeared to be a landing. At this end of the hall when he looked up he could see open beams, and cured food hanging there, it was tempting. But what lived here? He had arrived like a thief, and they would be alert by now.