He's taken aback by the tattoo on the man's face, enough that there's a half-second's pause before he remembers to bow courteously.

"My horse bolted," he said. "I was on the road to Lethevale-- but I fear the beast cannot be caught, and I cannot walk through the night."

He's too well-bred to enter without an invitation, and too proud to admit he's chilled to the bone and ready to sleep under a tree before he takes another step. "I ask your hospitality, sir."