Saya took her eyes off the simmering pot for a moment and glanced toward the entrance. She was no longer dressed in her travel clothes - those had been burnt well beyond salvage and discarded back in Morthal - and stood before the firepit in little more than a pair of cotton trousers, an apron, and a missized tunic long enough to be a dress on someone of her height. The latter was only somewhat by choice, as Saya didn’t want to spoil her streetwear and so elected to borrow one of Lydia’s spare shirts before she could buy a replacement. Whether she would actually do that tomorrow was a separate issue altogether.