Vilon regarded the man with suspicion. If there was one thing he had learned from his father, it was to always distrust those who greeted you first with a friendly demeanor. Some such men, Vilon had no doubt, were good and honest souls. But most were black hearted beneath the smile, eager to scam you out of what little you had.
The man was tall, though certainly not as tall as Vilon himself, but well built, both in shoulder and in chest, the contours of which pushed against the mail of his coif like a small ridge before falling flat across his stomach.
Vilon could not see his hair, hidden as it was beneath a mail coif that covered not only his scalp but a quarter of his face besides, sweeping down from the right side of his forehead, shrouding the eye, and cutting clean across the cheek, so that all that remained visible of that half of his face was chin and smile.
