For a bit I thought I had died and gone to live in some sort of heaven. Buuuuut, that idea was scraped when I remembered the near-death experience with the Nokken nor was I Christian or any of the religious sects that ripped apart the bible for shits and giggles. My birthday passed without much fanfare, and I wound up bedridden with a high fever for two weeks. 

It was a whole week of being fed heavy stews and soups and often times more than not having a bit of bread thrust in my face to 'get some meat on those bones' before I was even out of bed; granted I was really skinny and inhaled the food in front of me, nearly choking had Hans not slapped the hell out of my back to dislodge the bit of bread and left a large hand shaped bruise on my skin when I checked the day after.

I had to remember eat slowly and tiny bites after. The bread tasted familiar and I was trying my best to remember where I had tasted it from.

Another week and their grandmother-who's name was Julie-deemed me able to help out with the small stuff, I found myself helping their grandmother in the kitchen, learning about the various herbs that Gretchen had gathered from her walks and soon I found myself following Gretchen on her treks to gather from local flora and being taught the differences between dangerous plants and safe ones, it took a few tries but I got it when summer hit with a thick wave of heat. On occasion, we would make our way through a different path, heading back towards the waterfall where I saw the Nokken. She had placed a bowl of milk and boiled eggs on a flattish rock near the edge of the forest line and smiled when I stared in confusion.

“We’ll be okay, it's to symbolize giving a part of ourselves for safety.” Gretchen pricked her finger and let several drops of blood drip into the mixture before we embarked on another journey. I froze, my heart thudding in my ears when we neared the pond, hands gripping the skirt of the much taller woman.

“Offer for passage.” I followed her after wiping the needle on my clothes, probably not the most sanitary but who was I to argue with the people who knew how to navigate this place? This was done every day and every day we would gather herbs that would be made into tinctures and medical supplies along with any surplus from harvest they sold in the town a couple times a week. I did start to explore the area around the quiant place a bit more, finding it was a lot bigger than a simple cabin in the woods.

They had a chicken coop in the back along with a couple dozen cows and bull that was used to pull a cart, even some sheep that are used for making wool. As it turned out, it was more like a farm, with a couple of fields for growing vegetables and grain. I got to hear Gretchen do a kulning call for the cows one night and rubbed my arms to dispel the goosebumps that rose up. Wherever I was, was some sort of Scandinavian place but the grandmother didn’t have any maps and all of them were puzzled when I tried to list the countries I knew. So, I theorized I had to either have transported to a fantasy land or I most likely have gone crazy from stress. I had to have been, Boyd was dead back home…he couldn’t exist. He was my lamp, but nothing really changed about him everytime I looked at him.

Said kit-cat preferred to be by my side instead of chasing after the chickens but did swipe at the cocky rooster when the bird came too close to me for his comfort a few times. The raven, who I named Edgar after a poet from back home, had proven themselves to be helpful by warning us of foxes, hawks and other predators interested in the chickens, a few times catching snakes that I let go in the Nokken’s pond. In return they got eggs as a reward and the Nokken would play with the corpses before eating the body. I shuddered when they dug out the eye one time and popped it like a grape in their mouth. The squleching sound haunted me as I attempted to sleep in the room they managed to convert in the back from an old storage area. Hans slept in the barn during the summer and Gretchen would shove him into the small stream nearby so he could bathe before coming into the house, the reason he stayed out was a secret for now.

Jerks, not really. I was still a stranger to them so I’m not surprised they want to keep some things to themselves for now.

I finally went with Hans to the market after two months of me just wandering around the house during the beginning of Autumn, the past months of constantly being followed as if they were afraid of me attempting something nefarious or something else. The town was half a day away by cart and when we got there I found myself amazed while looking in wonder at the number of beings that weren’t human.

Dwarves, smaller than me, hauling carts of stone, a green toned orc with tusks, a ring in one of them who gave me a curious look when we passed. I even saw some centaurs and satyrs talking to various sellers. Some resembled beings out fantasy books and comics, with tiny fairies and pixies zipping by. There was a human selling fresh fish swimming in a large glass container, occasionally pulling one out and butchering it and packaging it up to a customer, the blood dripped off the wooden counter, where several cats-Boyd included-were drinking the puddles and remnants of fish bits. In the distance I heard the telltale sign of a train horn, seeing the steam billowing as it followed the curve of the distant valley floor. Fantasy steampunk?

According to Hans, they exported a lot of ore from deep in the mountains and timber from fallen trees, once springtime started again, they would be getting countless orders from people who needed to stock up on herbs and tonics for the next year and the river would look to be made of wood and solid enough that people could walk across it without a fear of drowning, thus the valley earning the name Riverwood Valley, I laughed at the cheesy name and Hans whacked me on the head for it. He was really strong for a guy, thankfully my ears didn't ring too much.

“Hey Hans, who's dis?” A voice cut my attention from where a pixie was riding a chicken in a nearby coop-a dwarf, they had taken notice of me as I went back to placing the bundles on the nails above and out of the sunlight, some smelled flowery, such as the lavender, rosemary, and dill. Some were more familiar such as mint and lemon balm while most had an overall scent of earth. They had an accent that sounded like a mix of Deep Bayou with a bit of Texan drawl sprinkled in, somewhere the two had mixed and dragged bits of the words out. I’m kinda glad it wasn’t the usual Scottish and it felt more in place with the thick beard and physique of the being in front of me.

“Morning Belgio, this is Rán.” I gave a wave and a smile.

“Cahn ya speak girlie?” I shook my head but signed out hello, earning a chuckle as they seemed amused. “Us dwarven-folk were the ones who taught the silly humans how to silent-speak, since we preferred the caves and mountains, our night vision is impeccable and it’s much safer then causing an accidental cave in.” I nodded at the bit of boasting, brushing some hair aside and caught them staring at my face, dark eyes darting to certain spots on my face and exposed parts of my neck. The air seemed heavy for a split second before I saw their chest expand as an audible breath filled their lungs. “Best hide dos marks, the Northern guard's been hunting for maidens whith them.” I raised an eyebrow as they walked off. “I’ll tell you when we’re home.” Hans sighed as he adjusted some shade over the jars of ointments and creams.

It was peaceful, thankfully the townsfolk were kind and conversed with me easily, knowing sign, or silent-speak as Belgio called it. Several men asked me where I came from and told them the same story I told Hans and Gretchen, omitting the bits of modernness since it would make them confused or attempt to throw me in prison for Hysteria, I don’t know. Even Gretchen was confused by the talk of me trying to explain how a car worked other than it was a horseless cart that ran on mini explosions. Another blast of the train horn-wait, they had a steam train but didn’t understand how cars worked? Granted I don’t understand how that stuff worked either.

“Hmm, maybe you’re that missing princess from the North, you have the appearance of a Northern girl.” One stated, a joking smile on his face. Hans scoffed as he set up more bottles up. “Everyone knows the queen regent killed the princess, the kingdom already has two male heirs, what reason would a girl be a part of the royal lineage?” His friend said. Hans set a jar down harshly, the table shaking slightly and making the others clink. The strangers didn’t look phased and I quickly corrected everything and made sure they were in their proper lines.

“Everyone knows that the line of succession is matriarchal.” He looked me over. “Hans is just annoyed because his cousin disappeared while touring the North. The princes closed the border after the princess went missing and any girl baring possible features-” Wood snapped and I saw Hans had broken part of the stall, the wood crumpling under his clenched fist and splinters spearing his palm. I pulled my headscarf out of the braid Gretchen made and quickly wrapped his hand as the men scurried off with a barely audible 'Bye'. Some twine was grabbed and I helped wrap the pole as he held it up. When we were done, I snuck a look at Hans, noticing the tensed posture of his shoulders, the deep inhalation and exhalation as he struggled to focus himself with stocking the rest of the containers. I lightly pressed my fingers into his shoulder, he turned and I signed the words ‘breath in’ and ‘breath out’ repeatedly, mimicking it with my own breath. He followed, taking a few minutes to remember himself. I frowned as I checked the pole, it was thick, my fingers could barely touch each other when I wrapped my hands around it, a normal human man couldn’t break this so easily…but with orcs and centaurs and satyrs walking around, perhaps Hans had something more than just simple mortal in his blood.

The afternoon came with the familiar cry of cicadas and he left me alone, not completely though with Boyd enjoying the sunlight near a bottle of some kind of tincture and Edgar playing with a group of actual crows among the top of the tents. After a solid ten minutes of counting how many people walked by with hats versus wearing simple hairstyles, Hans returned with two wrapped greasy packages, one was a leg of some giant bird, the other was a fish that was speared on a stick and seemed to have been cooked over a fire. Two mugs of some sweet smelling liquid were placed down and he shooed me away to eat further back as he dealt with customers before we switched and he tossed Boyd the remnants of his fish on a stick. He barely looked at me through the rest of the day, just watching over the crowd instead and I couldn't help the feeling of uneasiness coiling in my gut.