With his hunched, staff aided, gait, the farmer was easy to keep up with. He led the crew through the trees into a smaller opening where a house had been constructed with stone and mortar for a foundation, and then logs stacked atop that.
Opening the door, the warmth from within escaped with the sound of a lively fire. Stepping in, the crew would notice that while not much, the house was very livable. To their rights would be a staircase leading up to a sort of loft where hammocks were hung between support beams. To their left was a table and chairs, and a tall wooden cupboard containing crude metal eating utensils.
In front of them, however, was the source of the crackling sounds and wavering golden light, but accompanied by that, was the scent of stew being cooked in a large, heavy cauldron hanging from a metal hook within the flames. The smell of meat, carrots, onions, and spices filled the small house, and the farmer shrugged his shoulders.
"It's not much, but it's home. When all ya got is nothing, there is plenty to share." Their host joked, taking the cloak off to reveal the hunched and boney figure of a very aged male Nagual. His fur was patchy in places, and a long beard clung to the lower lip of his muzzle. He moved towards the cupboard and took out place settings for everyone, leaving plates stacked on the table, and setting mugs near them, while a small cup like container full of spoons, knives, and forks rested at the table's edge.
As he moved, the sound of his worn paws shuffling over the wooden plank flooring swished as he moved to a small door in the floor by the fire, pulling it open and descending within. Moments later he returned with a container in both arms. Though he looked weak, the strength shown by their host was near supernatural. He set one, a barrel, on it's side on the table, while the other, more of a stoneware jug, was rested on a small shelf by the cupboard. Turnign back to the cask, he tapped it with a metal spigot, and then turned to the fire, lifting the lid from the cauldron to let out even more of the scent from within.
"Stew's just about ready if you want any, and I didn't know what y'all outsiders like with your meals so I brought up a little wine, and some of the local brew. It's no Ambrosia, but it will wet a tired and dry whistle." The host said, then moved to grab a bowl from the table, turned the spigot to fill a mug with deep amber liquid from within, and then moved to ladle himself some of the stew, sitting in a large chair by the fire, and began to enjoy his dinner.