Sigrid nodded, and stood up with the blanket wrapped snug around her shoulders. In her hands was the dress that caught the eye of her old landlord. She felt a bit like an idiot for not hiding it in her clothes or something. The old man led her up the stairs to the rooms above, each step creaking merrily as they put their weight on it. Her mind was alight with wonder and curiosity, churning up the most magnificent images on how her room would look.

The bed did not cover the entire ground, and was not made entirely of bearskin. It, like the rest of the house, was furnished small and practical. The room was larger than her old one in her grandfather's house, but was smaller than the ground space of her boat. A small bed, good for one, was pushed against the far wall with the window. The rest of the room was empty. Sigrid went over to the bed and sat down on it, enjoying the feel of herself sinking into the straw. "I'm fine, I swear," she said. "Traders, by necessity, are immune to sickness." Her next sneeze suggested otherwise. Suddenly, the blanket wasn't so warm.