Djura was on his way back from visiting his Irvingly property manager's offices in Dovecote when he decided to turn off the main street. It was not often, after all, that the Baron should visit this part of town, and he was getting a few quirked eyebrows and breathless smiles. Djura, who was not a sociable sort, elected instead to take a detour on his way back home, walking along the woodland path by the station, silver cane pressing comfortably into the firm soil and ghostly eyes peaceful in these quiet, natural surroundings.

A brisk wind caught up from the east as he continued on his way, but he paid it no heed until it demanded attention. Without any semblance of warning, a narrow branch on a beech tree was dislodged by the gale and whipped him harshly across the arm. "Hm", Djura noted gruffly as a sharp pain faded in, and he stopped in his walk to see a narrow, bloody gash emerge on his affected arm.