Timestamp: 35th of Spring
The child led the way through the city until they came to the door of her orphanage. Sturlin had trouble fitting in here. More than his appearance or his profession it was his desire to avoid other people that caused the most trouble. By the time they had made it to the building they sought his face had set in a frightening, scarred scowl which warded passerby away from him.
Sturlin was wearing his leather vest and jacket, with similar pants and high boots to protect his calves. The smell of the forest clung to him, along with a faint smell of blood and sweat. His nearby stream could have washed away the smell of the animals he had butchered the morning before he found Fhera, but he did not want to let her out of his sight long enough to bathe. Nor did he want her to accompany him when he did so.
He led Francis with one hand and with the other he absently clenched and unclenched a fist. Gripping and releasing helped to soothe his nerves from being surrounded by strangers. It was better to look like you were going to beat someone than to freak actually freak out on them, he supposed. One could only hope that he was not required to answer any questions at the orphanage. In and out with as little trouble as possible.
Once they reached the door he extended a large fist and banged heavily on its surface three times. It was late, the sun was setting, and he was eager to have this child back where she belonged before she decided to cling to his leg forever. The look on his face did not soften when the door opened. If and when this happened, he would push the child forward with a guiding hand and wait for her to explain herself.
OOCEdited to include timestamp. Sorry I forgot it.