...and walks smack dab into a weathered man hobbling his way toward the same door. In her defense of course, it could very well have been his fault, since it wasn't like he could see her coming (she'd bumped into his left side after all). Cursing in seemingly every language but Common, Seifer stumbled forward and caught himself on the wall, barely avoiding a fall. If he'd swallow his pride and use a cane more often, he wouldn't be likely to have such a fit walking. Currently, the mahogany cane was tied to the side of his pack, situated between a well-worn hatchet and a dangling waterskin.
He took a brief moment to catch his breath before offering an apology through gritted teeth, though as far as he could tell it was just a grayish green figure that had run into him. He'd work out the details later. He had supplies to pick up. More specifically, the most important supply he could carry with him on the road. He leaned against anything he could on the way in, just trying to keep weight off his left leg for a while, and eventually caught the eye of one of the shopkeepers.
"Salt. Two pounds, please."
Not that he particularly enjoyed a high sodium intake, but with as often as he had to kill his own food, he needed to make sure the meat didn't spoil. Well, not quickly anyway, and salt helped prevent that from happening. As far as he was concerned, it was worth its weight in gold...he just hoped that wasn't what this particular shop planned on charging...