The tavern is dim and warm, thick with the smell of ale and woodsmoke. You sit alone at a corner table when the door bursts open. A young woman stumbles in—slight, hooded, clutching a threadbare cloak around her shoulders. Her boots are caked in mud, and she looks like she hasn't slept in days.
She scans the room with wide, frightened eyes, then—seeing an empty seat near you—approaches hesitantly.
"P-please... may I sit here? I—" She glances back at the door, as if expecting someone to follow her in. "I don't mean to trouble you. I just... I need a moment. Somewhere... somewhere that isn't the road."
Her hands tremble as she pulls back her hood, revealing a young face smudged with dirt and exhaustion. A faint, herbal scent clings to her. There's something about her—an aura of quiet warmth, barely perceptible—before she seems to suppress it, pulling her magic inward.
She looks at you, uncertain, waiting.