It was drafty in the little ramshackle house, but Anders tucked a blanket under his chin. He was trying to catch just a few more minutes of sleep before starting the day.
A pounding knock on the door roused him and chased away any such hopes. He shrugged off the blanket and pushed his way off the little cot. The knock sounded too desperate to be the templars, but one couldn't be too careful, so he grabbed his staff on the way to the door.
Anders pulled open the door to find a man, possibly a sailor, holding his arm tightly against his chest.
"Please, sirrah," the man pleaded, "help me!"
Anders led him into the room and sat him down in a chair.
"You don't look familiar," he observed as he gently investigated the arm. "How did you know this clinic was here?"
"I just put into port yesterday," the man replied, gritting his teeth. "My sister lives here in Lowtown. She said you healed her son's broken leg a few weeks ago."
Anders nodded and focused on convincing the man's bone to knit itself back together. It didn't take long to get the sailor all fixed up and send him on his way.
Alone again, Anders sat down to eat some bread. Hawke had been needing his help often lately, so he wanted to eat while he could. It was likely to be a long day.
