There was a small cot with what looked like furs draped over it, the base of the walls were cluttered with all manner of grey, clay pots and statuettes. In the centre of the room was a fire pit with a roaring flame, burning coals at its heart, a blackened pot hung over it. There was some kind of broth cooking slowly over the flame, the smell wasn’t all that enticing, but certainly not off-putting. Handy stood there in the doorframe, shivering, reluctant to go near the fire, as much as he sought its warmth to dry him off. He continued surveying the small dwelling, there was a large rock over which a wooden plank had been placed. Upon it were several small linens and utensils that looked like they had been carved out of small bones, they appeared as old and worn as everything else here.