He saw a sign with what looked to be a tunic on it, but the glyphs underneath it said 'blacksmith', so it must have been a chestplate. He strode past it, noting the smith beating a sword into shape on the anvil.
It took another two streets before he found a sign with a needle and thread on. 'Furs and clothing' the sign underneath it read. It was rather well hidden, compared to the other stores that had hung around the town's entrance. This was hidden amongst longhouses that were clearly homes. The streets were quieter for that, which Vol was thankful for.
He quickened his stride, as he reached into his coat pocket, making sure that the coins were well on hand. He found his heart beating quickly, thumping against his ribcage. A terribly strange thing. Surrounded by four men, he hadn't felt this tension, yet the prospect of negotiating with a clothier and attracting more trouble to himself left him with a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
He pushed on the wooden door. It didn't budge. With a sinking feeling, Vol realized it would be right around closing time. The sky was darkening, and the guards were lighting torches set into posts in the street, as workmen made their way home for the day.
"Shit…" He cursed to himself. He'd wanted to get this done as soon as possible. He pushed on the door, harder this time. He was almost willing to kick it in. He could feel the wooden flexing as he pushed – he was sure he could break it.
But then as suddenly as it had rejected him, the door flung open, and a woman was standing there in its place.
"Thought I heard someone knocking. Was just about to close up for the day," she said. She barely spared him a glance before moving away from the door, letting him inside.
Cautiously, Vol followed her. The room she'd led him into was small, far smaller than the overall blueprint of the house. He kicked the snow from his boots, and spared the room a brief glance.
A fire was burning in one wall. That, and two candles were all that lit it. It gave it a dismal glow. There were a few women's dresses hanging on one wall, next to tunics for men. Then there was a whole section of different fur coats and hats along with them. Beneath them all, rolled up like carpets, there was a dwindling heap of fur blankets.
"Well? What can I do for you?" The woman asked, as she returned behind the counter, and tapped her finger impatiently against the wood. Only when Vol turned to her did she notice the blood on his trousers. He saw her stiffen, then she met his eyes, and she stiffened further. He thought she might freeze in place.
But to her credit, the woman quickly broke free of that spell with a shake of her head, her thin blonde hair dancing with the movement. "Ah, well, given the state of you, I imagine you at least want new trousers, eh?"
Vol grunted in agreement. "Trousers, boot furs, and a new tunic. Blood ruined them."
She nodded her understanding, not asking any further questions. Vol was pleased about that. She moved to a shelf, where woollen trousers of various sizes were folded up. She took one of the bigger pairs off it, and allowed them to unravel, checking their length against Vol from across the room with a squinted eye. She shook her head, and pulled another pair free. Those seemed to meet her criteria, for she flung them onto the counter.
"Measure those against yourself, see if they fit," she said. "A new tunic as well, was it?" She asked, looking back around at him. "You sure you don't want a new coat? There's a splatter of red on the back there. If you're going to clean, may as well clean all the way – assuming you've got the coin for it."
Vol glanced down at himself, looking where she pointed. It was a part he missed.
"The rest of the coat is good fur, though. If you trade it with me, I can knock some coin off your purchase. I can cut it down and make some gloves and hats out of it," she said. She seemed an energetic woman. She moved with a graceful swiftness that suited her small size. From the youth of her face, she seemed to be younger than thirty – impressive, for a store owner. The store owners he knew were all older people. It took years to save up the coin needed to open one.
"I'll get a new coat then," Vol decided.
"As you will. You going to be alright affording this, boy? Just with the coat and trousers, you're looking at eight coppers already," the woman asked.
Vol frowned. It wasn't unexpected, but it was still more expensive than he would have liked. Good quality fur was highly prized in the cold, after all. It was not often that a man needed to replace it. "…I suppose."
She smiled at that. "Well, good. I must say it's pleasant to have a customer with coin. Everyone's on hard times as of late – around here at least. Always gets like that in the winter, until the river thaws free again. You're doing well for yourself for someone so young."
Vol said nothing to that. She was only trying to make polite conversation, but given how he'd attained that coin, it wasn't something that he could actively brag about. Not when it had come from their own people. If he'd been raiding in the Stormfront and gathered it, she would have praised him for it.
She seemed to take the hint, respecting his want for silence. She checked some boot furs next, and threw them up on the counter, telling him to check them. He did, again. Just like the tunic and trousers, they were a perfect fit. The woman knew her job.