Kit & Noah: the B&B
He hadn't many things. A holdall, nylon that looked old and worn and a bag worn across his shoulder, leather. Kit had walked from the one side of town to the other on old leather shoes that were worn at the heels and scuffed at the toes and in corduroy trousers that were the color of red dust. Kit had a long unhurried stride, a sort of lope as he approached the steps to the B&B front desk. He paused there, a tall and narrow-shouldered man in a cream colored sweater that looked like someone had knit it by hand and ran a hand through the thick flop of hair trying to curl into his eyes, damp with the beginning of sweat. It had been a longer walk than expected.