"Mind the ceiling." The bartender said sardonically, not bothering to glance back in Consir's direction. The other denizens of the bar, however, were a bit startled by Consir's sudden appearance, a few of them relocating to places further towards the walls.
The fastest way Capry could see was the trodden-down dirt path leading right to the capitol's gate. It was within viewing distance, and two Holos guarded the door.
The door to the windmill slowly creaked open as the Weaver stepped through. It was a small, cramped place, filled with all sorts of untouched sewing equipment and a heavily used loom. A disdainful and horrific shriek suddenly erupted from beneath the floor, but the Weaver tapped the floor twice in response.
"It's alright, it's just me."
He pulled up on a large brass handle hidden in the floor, opening up a panel of bark. The dim light only reflected off of the large eyes of its inhabitant. "I got you some food," The Weaver spoke, before dropping the bundle down into the hole. The eyes disappeared for a moment and then looked back up.
"Again, thank you Machua." The voice chirped. "You're the only one who cared and believed me."
"Stop that," The Weaver retorted softly. "That's the same blasted thing you say every time I bring you food. Now that'll last you a couple of days. I have to go out again, I'll be back by nightfall."
The bark was replaced, and the Weaver, ever meticulous with his movements, stalked back towards the Capitol.