The city of Falstaff in the county of Fairhaven.  That implied a greater nation.  She was certainly nowhere near the Heartlands that much was certain.  She had assumed she'd stumbled across a faerie road or somehow had been transported up towards the great white north like Icewind Dale.  A county didn't sound like it belonged in the great northern wildlands.  She would consult her maps but those were inside her vardo.  Maps were too valuable to leave about.

Gently snapping the reins, Syeira got her horse moving, following the old soldier and the rest of her newly found fellowship into the city of Falstaff.  The iron banded wheels rattled and the springs squeaked and protested as the wagon bounced in and out of frozen ruts of mud.

She also didn't like the term "Mist-Taken".  That did not bode well.  She wanted to ask what that meant but others had already asked enough of the old man for the moment.  They didn't wish to alienate or frustrate the man after he'd been so good as to let them into the city.