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[riotheclown]

Lewis hunched a little as he stepped inside. Although the woven twigs of the ceiling were easily high enough to accommodate someone much taller than he was, the shack had the feel of a cloister, the kind favoured by penitent hermits. It was sparely furnished, just a cot pulled close to the brazier and a work table stretching across the width of the space along the side wall where, Lewis guessed, the sunlight would fall at dawn.

It was here that the penitent hermit himself sat, his head sunk with concentration between narrow shoulders, long-fingered hands cradling the listening cups affixed to his ears by a leather band around the back of his head.  from Troyswann's series called Peregrine.