The wind swept around Dalziel even with his back to a building, the structure blocked some--but not nearly all--of the gale-force winds. His slicker, slowly turned from dirty brown to a corroded black, whipped around his body and tangled together in between in legs. Still, he could not discard it--it was much too cold for that.
Out on the street he saw people pressing against the wind, headed in a singular direction. With his house yet to be claimed, he had no place to go except to follow them and hope to find some kind of shelter. His luck was apparently running low because he still knew very little of this town--knew no Inns or places of shelter--so had no choice but to follow and hope for the best.
Dalziel drew in a deep breath and pulled the slicker around tighter to his body before he stepped out of the relative comfort of the building and into the stronger winds. As expected, the slicker blew out behind him like a highwayman's cloak when running at full gate. With head bowed, he walked into the wind and followed after those that he saw in front of him.
A few tried to approach other people and were rebuked on the spot. Not very friendly people, apparently. With this in mind he just kept his head down and continued to walk down the road, looking up on occasion to make sure he was still in sight of the others that milled about in front of him. As he approached the group that had come to a standstill near a dock, he stopped short behind them, as well, turning his head to peer in the direction that all heads were turned.
His eyes narrowed and then grew steadily wider, his expression reflecting those of everyone's around him.
"What in the Aeternium is that?"