The old elf stood waiting, framed in a doorway by afternoon light streaming through the windows. His appearance was in no way imposing; he was neither exceptionally tall for an elf, nor short of stature, and while lean, he wasn’t thin. His silvery hair was long, but not unkempt. and his eyes were gentle, not piercing or sharp. He gripped a hazel stick in a way that said he needed its support, and not just as an affectation, and his clothes were plain and dark blue without any ornate decoration. Had he been seen in a photograph, the most perceptive of viewers would not likely have considered him anything out of the ordinary.