Waen stops by about mid-day with a wheeled cart full of sacks and his dogs meandering at his heels. It's a delivery of oats, something ordered from a traveling caravan, and he'd just returned from Northcliff with them. Some went to Detlef, as was required for all the horses the man kept, and some went to the store, but it was faster to deliver the bulk before heading home.

He knocks on the wall by the stable doors and lets out a sharp whistle to have his dogs come to heel.

"Delivery," he calls.