As dusk comes on the Aerie, and the simple cold starts trending to a more bitter version, foot traffic is nearly nonexistant - the weather of winter drives most indoors, and even the Guards here huddle close to their watchfires and curse at the chill. One young man, however, is out and about - breath misting warm on the chill air. He works just outside the leatherworker's shop, a small wagon nearby, about half-full of rough-hewn lumber. Carefully, he uses an axe, trimming away small branches from one of the pieces at his feet.