The stranger burst into the tavern, a whirlwind of snow battering its way through the open door. Ptar peered up from his book, cloaked in shadow. A single snowflake drifted through the inn, settling upon Ptar's book. The stranger, swaddled in cloth, limped along the stone floor towards the blazing hearth. The stranger stopped; began to cough, violently and forcefully hacking up blood. Ptar rushed over to help, seizing the stranger by his shoulders. "Are you okay?" The stranger's agony ceased abruptly; receding unto nothingness, and he looked upwards. "Sir?" He spun desperately. "Sir!" There was naught there but shadows.