The dusty, rutted road is lined with closely-grown hedges of brambles and shrubs.  Here and there it cuts through a copse or crosses a rivulet.  To either hand, forest and meadow have given way to field and orchard.  A small herd of kine graze nearby, and a distant hill is dotted with the wand stone chimneys with thin plumes of smoke rising from them.  A road angles west into the hill country, and to either side of the road ahead are barns and buildings - Hommlet at last!  The road meanders through farmhouses and businesses, leading finally to the steps of a large building bearing a square wooden sign showing a buxom and smiling girl holding a flagon of beer.  This must be the Inn of the Welcome Wench.

Brother Yew, was not often is such places but he knew this was as good a place to start as any.  The Gnarley, close by, offered the best chance of learning more about his father.  Perhaps some local elves or druids might even have heard of him. The only piece of information gleaned from his aging mother was the name 'Larry'. 'Larry the fair', apparently, though it seemed inappropriate for someone who left his mother to raise a bastard. Not that she cared.

The front door swings open briefly to allow the passing of a local farmer heading home after his nightly libation.  There appears to be a sizable gathering in the common room this evening - a gathering that will likely grow a bit given the handful of travelers on the road this evening. The welcoming sounds of conversation and smells of roasting meat greet you from inside the inn and beckon you to enter.