Astrid closed the door behind her with a soft click, and finally left out a shuddering breath and shrugged off her backpack. It made a dull thud as it fell on the floor, and were Astrid in a more stable set of mind she would have been worried the boards underneath might bend or break. As it was, the bed was the only thing on her mind. 

She sat down, feeling it creak underneath her, and put her head in her hands. The dry, hot air did not give as much relief as she would like, but she breathed nonetheless. 

[i]‘Deep breath, hold it, then exhale slowly.’[/i] 

She repeated the mantra a few times, focusing her mind on stemming the tide of uncertainty and panic—something she had been trying to do ever since she had witnessed the mayor. “Hvað hef ég komið mér í?” 

She had been en route for perhaps six weeks by the time she reached the boundary. Off the boat in Denmark, and then a few more days south, and then that odd crack in the ground. She had expected at least an additional two months on the road, maybe a few weeks less if she could grab a lift. Money was tight enough that she did not take the train, but she had plans to maybe attempt to sneak aboard one if the chance arose. All in all, she was prepared for a very long journey, possibly up to a year, if she had to stop to work so she could earn some money. 

It had surprised her quite a bit then, when she had just crossed through Aalborg, when she came upon a miniature ravine. A tiny split in the ground barely the width of her hand. It had not been the most curious thing of her travels yet. The odd flatness of the entirety of Denmark was likely that. It had not even crossed her mind that the crack might be more than met the eyes. So when she stepped over and found herself in a place completely unlike the gentle fields of the Danish countryside. 

The first thing she had noticed was the heat blasting down from above. The second was the shuffling footfalls of a man who looked as cantankerous as they come. He led her into the city proper, past the outer ring of chaotic buildings and across the figurative no-man’s-land. Within the city proper was where things had taken a turn for the bizarre, and when Astrid’s panic had started to mount. The words scarcely registered to her, her brain busy with categorising how a dried husk of a corpse was able to move, let alone talk. 

She followed mutely towards the saloon when the “Mayor” had gone silent, and Quill—the angry old man—had walked off towards it. She had only just ducked through the door when the breath was stolen from her lungs as the cabinets behind the counter started talking. It took a full count of ten before she realised it wasn’t the cabinets at all, but the remnants of what could only be assumed to have once been a person, now fused to the wood in a way she was certain would give her nightmares. She had realised that it spoke to her about a sentence into its introduction of the place, and though she listened it was difficult to force herself to move. When it held out a key, she paused for a significant amount of time, before a gunshot rang from outside and shocked her into action. 

It was with a mix of embarrassment and lingering panic that she thought back to how she had rushed past, grabbed the key, and walked upstairs as fast as her legs could carry her. 

She breathed out a long, slow breath before inhaling and straightening up in the same moment. She had survived the worst of it, she hoped. This place was from out of fairy tales and folklore, told to keep naughty children in line lest they misbehave. But now she knew that, and she could hopefully prepare herself for the sight of more. The fact that the innkeeper was a horrific amalgamation of wood, flesh, and termites and the mayor could barely be considered alive, were enough to be relatively certain that she should expect more things that raised hackles around here. At least the existence of Quill, and the faces of the others she had seen in the windows in the ring-city, told her that there were humans to be found here. Normal ones. With two arms, two legs, and skin that looked fresher than a piece of one-year dry-aged meat. 

With some renewed vigour she stood up and set about covering the windows. She seemed to remember either Quill or the thing-person downstairs telling her that the sun didn’t set here—a fact which she refused to think about now—and so using the blankets to cover the windows might be a good idea. It was a small mercy that the summers back home had prepared her for sleeping with the sun out. 

A few minutes later Astrid lay on the bed, wondering what tomorrow would bring. If today had been any indication, more things that would raise question after question. For now, at least, she would sleep. But only after blocking the door, and propping her axe against the bed and in easy reach.