“I think the term is wreck,” Emmaline pointed out pedantically, leaning close to the smokey fire to warm her hands. The fuel of choice seemed to be peat rather than wood and neatly chopped cubes were piled in one of the corners of the hut. There was considerable relief to be had in the mere presence of men even if they were of a wild and strange sort but while she was relieved to be free of the murderous elves, being stuck in another distant land did not fill her with enthusiasm.

“Cam git ye in a dris tha tae not make ye look li’ a whorr,” declared a fearsome looking woman whose pudgy jowls shook to emphasise her evident disapproval. She wore a grey dress that was a few sizes too small and stained with smoke and cooking grease besides, giving her the aspect of an ornery boar.

“I’m sorry what?” Emmaline asked, completely defeated by the heavy accent.

“Cam wit mae,” the woman declared, seizing Emmaline by the elbow and dragging her bodily from the hut. The hut across the seat was of a better sort, still a hovel by civilized standards but tidy and well kept. A pair of girls, younger and slimmer but of unfortunate resemblance to their mother stood gawping slack jawed.

“Lits ga ye in tae a dacent driss,” the woman declared unintelligibly and reached to take off Emmaline’s silken shirt.

“Get your hands off me,” Emmaline snapped, swatting the woman’s meaty paw away from her. The shirt of elven silk was the only thing she owned in the world other than her staff and she was unwilling to be parted with it. The woman glowered at her and seemed to consider forcing the issue.

“Ah wael sate yeaself, ba yae be putin on a draes,” the woman glowered and then picked up one of the dresses of grey homespun wool and all but hurling it at Emmaline. The alchemist snatched it out of the air and regarded it with distaste for a moment before pulling the garment on over her silk. The weave was scratchy and it smelled faintly of mold but she had to admit it was warm.

“There are you happy?” she asked the woman.

“Ael be happy wheen ye and ya sae traesh be gain,” the woman declared truculently.

“Ahhh… well the same to you I guess,” Emmaline returned, completely at sea as to what the woman was on about before retreating into the street. It was fully dark now and watch fires were burning in concave copper sheets attop the parapet. Emmaline couldn’t imagine that was much help, especially given that the omnipresent fog had shown no signs of lifting, but she imagined the clansmen knew their business. She crossed the street to the original hut and stepped inside only to find Amal gone.

“Now what?” she asked the empty hut irritably, she couldn’t imagine there was anything in this dung heap worth stealing.