Inside a small room within the Hookworth Guest House, books are seen scattered across the table, some stacked in the corner of it, many of the them lying open-faced. Within the chair in front of the mess, a scholar furiously looks from book to book, going back and forth to write in one of two small notebooks directly in front of him. Aeroden sets the ink and pen aside, shutting his eyes closed as he pinches the bridge of his nose. After a long moment, he lets out a long sigh and gazes about the cluttered table. The young man rises from his chair, gathering up the books and placing them in neat stacks, and tucks the two notebooks within a satchel he keeps at his bedside. Aeroden wanders towards the door, stopping to look at some flowers he keeps on his desk, within an earthen pot. Bright yellow daffodils spring from the soil, creating a bright atmosphere in the otherwise dull room full of books and basic necessities. He smiles affectionately towards it, happy to see them still doing well before leaving his room, and guest house.
Aeroden lowers himself to sit on the steps just outside the door, taking in the warm, balmy breeze spring brings. "Where is it life shall take me now?" He wonders, his eyes resting on the cobble streets before him. His mind instead wanders to where life has already taken him, seeming to take him from a wandering nomad, to a man who can call some place home. He smiles to himself, "Yes," he thinks. "Home indeed."
