There was no castle around Rowan was he awoke. Only the smell of hay and the sound of horses snorting and kicking their stalls on the other side of the wall. His very humble home, built onto the barn, wasn't much to look at. At one time, he too had slept in the castle as a welcomed guest. Now he was treated as little more than a common animal.
Rowan groaned as he crawled out of his lumpy bed, a mattress stuffed with straw. His hooves clacked as they drug across the wood floor towards his kitchen cabinets. He had a small wood burning stove to cook with, and a fire pit outside when he wanted to roast. His water supply, however, was the pump outside of the barn, the very same used to water the animals.
Rowan opened a cabinet to pull out a piece of poppyseed bread he'd made a couple days ago. It was the last bit, and probably the last for a while. Flour wasn't easy to come by these days. He munched on the bread as he went to the stove and pulled a pot full of water off of it. The water was tinted a deep purple, with a heavy smell of lavender and rosemary. The concentrated tea is what Rowan liked to put in his baths to make himself smell pleasant. Just because the retched king treated him like a beast didn't mean he had to smell like one.
Rowan carried the pot outside to the large tub that sat by the pump. Lucky for him, privacy wasn't really something he desperately needed. Although the pump was behind the barn, and many people didn't wander back there, it was still very much outside and in the open. Rowan paid no mind as he pumped the handle to fill the tub up. He then dumped the tea into it.
He washed his hair fist, dunking his head under water and running his fingers through his curls. He scrubbed at his face with a rag until he felt the dirt and cinder from the forge melt away. Black soot spotted his body from his work as a blacksmith. He used the rag to scrub it off, then splashed himself clean with the water. Once he felt considerably cleaner, he dumped the water into the grass and took his pot back inside.
Rowan shook his hair and backside free of dripping water before going into his small home. He didn't want to get his floor all wet. The satyr set the pot back on the stove and grabbed his bag of work tools. The blacksmith shop was much nicer than his own home. It gave Rowan plenty of room to work with his assistant, so that they weren't constantly running into each other and stepping on toes. It was set apart from the castle, in a corner section of the grounds. The walk from the barn wasn't a long one.