His arm was tired and the fumes of the paint had by now made him a little light-headed despite the open window to his right. For as cold as it was outside he hardly felt it, thanks to the fire that had sprung up in the hearth upon dusk’s arrival. It could get a tad stifling at times, but the heat helped the paint dry faster, as it normally took much longer to do so. He’d paused now and then to eat or drink from the food he brought with him daily, but those breaks were always short and largely silent. He wasn’t the most extroverted of people but in a case like this he found himself longing for company sometimes. The funny thing was, most of the available company that lived here frightened him—all except for two: the Lady of the manor and her son.