As Arfaron came up, he saw a man lounging on the steps outside the building. He was enjoying the fresh autumn air and lazily smoking a hand-rolled cigarette that smelled of summer herbs. He was not a student: that much was evident, for all his casual manner. There was a look about him that was young and old at once. His face was lined with laughter, but it was not the mark of age... or else of age so great that it was unfathomable. The man was Sidhe.
His gaze swung away from the scuttling clouds in Arfaron's direction as the young man approached, a sharp blue that reflected the autumn sky. "Ah," he said, blowing out a wreath of sweet-smelling smoke. "There you are. I thought there would be somebody coming today. I had a feeling." His tone was friendly and mellow, made musical by an accent that was almost Irish, but underlaid with something far, far older than the Gaelic. An easy smile lit his handsome features. "And here I was right. Good to know I haven't lost my touch entirely."