You're an adventurer. You had no idea when you chose this life how often that would leave you cold, tired and hungry. You left your home town when your best option for the future meant prettying yourself up enough to attract a fairly rich merchant and getting pregnant with as many babies as he could put into you. The other options were variations on the first, only with less well-to-do men. Not wanting to pin your hopes on some man to give you a comfortable life you woke up in the dead of the night, packed some of your brothers' clothes and set out on the road to make your own fortune.
That fortune has yet to show itself. In weak moments you curse the choice you made. Moments like right now. Better far to die some old lady in a nice-ish house, you think to yourself, than to die this road you've been hiking for a fortnight now having eaten the last of your stale bread and moldy cheese a couple of days ago. The rain pounds on the hood you have drawn up over your face and the mud squishes beneath your boots as you plod up a steep hill, preying to the gods that the town this road promised was at the end of it actually arrives.
Your prayers, it seems, are answered. The town is below you. As late as it is there aren't many lights on in the windows below but there are some. You walk carefully down the hill feeling that at last you've reached some measure of safety from the road and the elements. Assuming, of course, you can get a nice warm bed and a hot meal.
You're cold, tired and starving. Which door do you pound on in the middle of the night first?