The maid is walking from one corner to another, carrying a sheet.
The smith’s wife is pressing her ear to the door, listening in vain for the sound of footsteps through the storm.
The official is huddled near a stove, looking sour.
The monk is sitting at the table, scribbling something in the margins of his bible.
The time traveler is sitting in the corner, reading an old book.
“–And I told him not to go out, but where is the man now? Out there someplace. I’m ready to bar the door– ”
The smith’s wife was cut off by a burst of thunder.
“That’s the Lord tellin ye to quit yer bellyachin, so it is!” the official says.
“Egbert, I’m worried about me husband!”
“Steward Egbert to you!”
“Oh hush, this is no kingdom, as ye know.”
“Rowan was probably on his way back, but smartened up he did,” he taps his temples furiously, “and he fled soon as he heard ye screamin!”