By the evening Fíadh has managed to scrub down the anvil as best as she can, and has moved on to the rest of the shop. Or rather, each mess that manages to catch her eye at a time and garner her complete attention, leaving pockets of order among the general disarray. She's sorting a various jumble of nails at a table, also in need of some serious work but she supposes she can just put that in her backlog of-

She tenses and whirls to face the Watch Captain before he can even finish the "-lo," barely jerking her swordarm to her hip before remembering it's bare. And that she's the stranger here. She assesses the man slowly, but there's certainly no embarrassment or guilt in her face at being found here. Only caution. Eventually, Fíadh responds.

"It was dirty."

She says it less as an explanation and more just ... a fact.