''The Wold''

The day was quiet, which made a welcome change for Furley's ears. Then again, it was just before dawn, and he'd gotten up early to avoid the bustling and humdrum, or at least that's what he told himself. In reality, he'd decided to skulk off without bothering anyone, and largely to go unnoticed. 

The day had disappeared, and night had begun to fall. In the midst of Woodhurst, Furley stood with Deorla, waiting for the Thane, Lady Haeneth and her Commander, Thorvall, along with a few others he'd just met.

Trading was never easy. In fact, Furley had gotten this grand notion in his mind that Rohan would have welcomed traders, and would have ben in need of supply. How wrong he'd been. Instead, he'd been shunned by the traders as an outsider and a threat, and nobody seemed interested in parting with coin. Times were hard, I suppose. They clearly had an abundance of furs, and no desire for feathered hats. He'd have to re-think his strategy.