[Vox]

Travis eyed the old lady. She looked about ready to stab him, and he held up his hands to show there was nothing in them, to placate her, all the while keeping the exits in view in case he needed to flee. He was aware that in his flannel shirt, thick fleece-lined denim jacket and heavy hiking boots that he probably appeared to be either homeless or a laborer, and the day's growth of blond stubble didn't help. If the balaclava on his head had been rolled down, that would have finished him.

"Easy there, lady. I didn't mean to trespass. Like I've been telling you, I saw someone calling for help from an upstairs window. It looked like they were in trouble."

He glanced at the two men who had rushed in. One was a big kid, a little younger than himself, with a similar farmer's build, but a dull expression. The other might possibly be the lord of the manor, being in nicer clothes and with more going on upstairs than Farmer Boy. Instead of being alarmed or angry, the lord said,

"Surely we can come to an agreement here..." and looked more resigned than anything else. Travis had half expected him to say, "Oh, I say, old girl, what's the row?"

Dismissing such prejudiced thoughts from his head, he addressed the lord, "It looks like someone is in trouble upstairs. Can we please go make sure everything's ok?" He looked at him in appeal.