Grayewolfe's home is found deep into a hill, in a cave carved out by waterfall, the fall itself acting as the door to her realm. You are so deep into the hill that the noise of the waterfall is but a murmur in the distance. She soon has a fire kindled and it burns cheerily in the hearth. She busies herself with making her home presentable, picking up stray belongings from the floor. "I wasn't expecting any visitors," she explains sheepishly. You take her distraction as an opportunity to look around.

The walls feel like rough silk under your fingers, and you run your hands across the smoothened rock, marvelling at the colour spectrum of the sandstone. The cave is large and well illuminated by the fire, as well as by the lamps in the wall-scones. You can see, further into the depths of the rock, two smaller caves -- your hostess disappears into one of them bearing her things.

She must have her rooms at the back, you think to yourself.

There are shelves filled with books against the far wall and you walk towards it. The titles of the books are obscure, although you find several more contemporary books on the lowest shelf. Your fingers encounter a thin volume and you pull it out. You remember having seen your younger sister reading the same book, it is a romance novel of sorts. You find it quite strange that someone like Grayewolfe would be reading such books. You replace the book, but before you can explore her shelves further, your hostess returns, carrying two wooden cups in her hands.

You take one from her and sip carefully. The sweetness of wine courses down your throat and you gratefully take a deeper drink. She leads you to a pile of worn cushions on the floor and seats you upon them. She then gracefully folds herself cross-legged onto the woven grass mat.