A very tired looking middle aged woman wanders in, knitting bag on her shoulder, a plate of apple honey cake in one hand, and a cane in the other. She puts the cake on the table, pulling an ingredients list out of her knitting bag and setting it by the cake. The knitting bag gets put in an out of the way corner. She herself spreads her shawl and shakes it like a mantling hawk; when her arms come down they and the shawl have become wings in truth, and a kestrel flutters up to settle on the perch. She fluffs her feathers and lets her head sink into them a little, and just watches people for now.