brown cloak and rough beard

Thistlemead rose from his sleeping place in the middle of the field. He could still hear the cries of Greyleaf, whom had been tied to a pole in the exact middle of the camp. ‘He will get us all killed,’ he muttered as he came upon the group that had gathered around one of three campfires, ‘a merchant will be strolling down the road; he’ll hear screaming and call for the militia.’