“Of course,” you know of the aforementioned shopkeep in the den of thieves, you tell it. It will find them in the twilight enclave or some such tavern north of town. You explain that must be what it’s looking for, meandering into a story about someone you saw who appeared so ancient they couldn’t possibly have been among the living.

Its eyes narrow, and its ears pull back while the wind roars violently. Sensing its impatience, you slowly reach for your weapon.

The wind abruptly stops as the animal turns away and disappears into the brush. Perhaps you’ll stick to the main roads for a while.