The figure slowly trundling up castle hill was rapped in layers of fabric; a lump under the coat suggested either a hunchback or that the coat was drawn over an item the figure sought to protect against the elements. Small puffs of vapor from under the hood marked the traveller's breath. "Ins weite Land hinein..." The last bars of the wandering song faded, interrupted by the call to identify; the voice was that of a girl or young woman, ringing clear in the frosty air, the sound joyful. She had clearly kept her good humor despite the adverse conditions - either that, or she was doing the singer's equivalent of purring to make herself feel better.<br/><br/>The figure stopped at being hailed, hesitated for a moment, then pushed her hood back to reveal a head of red hair and a tomboyishly cute face. "I'm Mialla, Sir." The singer's voice, sweet and full. "A wandering songstress. Winter caught up with me on the road, and I am hoping for a place by the fire to warm up, and a spot in the hayloft to sleep. I am, of course, willing to entertain the master of this keep and any guests that might be present with song and music in return."