The next morning, Faye’s eyes flickered open to a stream of sunlight piercing through the shutter on the window and lancing into her skull.

“Ow.”

She rolled away from the light, which was more annoying than painful, and carefully stretched as she stood. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep before the fire. It seemed that her friends had all fallen asleep where they’d been sitting the night previously, too.

From the smell emanating from Ailith’s snoring form, Faye suspected the woman had downed a bottle of spirits to herself after Faye had drifted off to sleep.

Shaking her head, Faye carefully moved over to the window. With a gentle push, the shutter closed enough that the awful streak of dawn light wasn’t intruding on the room. Taking each step with care, Faye left the three sleeping figures and slipped out into the courtyard area.

The morning air was fresh and bracing, with barely a single wisp of cloud in the sky. The courtyard was shaded, a little, by its walls. It meant that at the start of a workout, it was always cold.

Before she got started, she took advantage of the small spigot attached to the courtyard wall. Clean, cold water splashed out and Faye guzzled enough to slake her thirst.

It had taken a while to get used to no caffeine on a morning, but her withdrawal had finally passed. No more headaches meant that each morning she was relying on fresh water and exercise to wake herself up and give her energy for the day.

Surprisingly, it worked well.

She started with stretches, as she always did. Head to toe. She made sure that each body part was ready for whatever exercise she wanted to do that day.

Her left shoulder was a little stiff. She made sure to work it a little more on the warmup. She must have been leaning on it in her sleep. It would soon right itself.

After readying herself, she turned to the courtyard wall, then stopped herself.

Ah, they took it yesterday.

Her habitual morning exercise usually began with a series of sword exercises. But they’d confiscated the training weapon the day before.

Feeling the anger and scowl threatening her calm, Faye shook her head and began some basic cardio. Running from one side of the courtyard to the other was boring, but by imagining that she was hearing beeps she could pretend that she was running suicides. By starting off slowly, she could ramp up the intensity as slowly or quickly as she liked.

Not having that external motivation means I’m probably giving myself some leeway though.

Eventually, the mindlessness of the exercise drained away the thoughts of the day before. Faye was getting to the point that she wanted a spar, and she was lamenting the fact that the others were still sleeping when shadows darkened the doorway into the courtyard.

Arran looked somewhat green around the gills.

“Ugh, no, she’s running.”

Ailith pushed past Arran, took one look at Faye, then turned and strode toward the far courtyard wall — still shrouded in shadow — and promptly dropped into a slouched sitting position.

Faye shook her head at them.

“Not going to join me for a light morning jog?” she asked. She started running laps around the courtyard, intentionally passing by Arran and Ailith as closely as possible, grinning at them as she did.

Arran followed her with his eyes for a few laps, but he swallowed nervously and moved over to the spigot.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“What did you drink?” she asked. “I certainly wasn’t offered any.”

“You’re not old enough,” Ailith mumbled.

“Excuse me?” Faye said, arching an eyebrow at the miserable jumble of limbs that suggested a human woman was lying in the lee of the wall. “It seems that you’re too old to be drinking it, if it affects you this badly.”

Arran was washing his mouth out with water, but he hadn’t vomited. Faye was glad, the smell would set off her stomach like something rotten. At least once, Faye had found herself throwing up next to a friend, despite never getting drunk to the point she needed to — the smell of her friends’ vomit was enough.

Feeling her pulse racing, she came to a stop in the centre of the yard. Imagining an opponent, Faye put up her boxing guard and danced around on the balls of her feet.

Throwing a jab, two, then punching out with her main hand, she blew out air in quick bursts as she punched. Faster and faster, she carried on throwing out somewhat random series of blows. After an indeterminate length of time, she started adding in some ducks.

“That is a totally ineffective form of hand-to-hand combat.”

Externally, she ignored the comment. Internally, she smirked. She hadn’t ever thought her hand-to-hand skills were more than adequate. Someone that trained in a hand and foot martial art would beat her every time, but she knew her basics would put her a step above anyone that didn’t practise an art.

Soon, she added some footwork. They were movements that she’d learned for wielding a weapon. They weren’t fully useful in boxing, but it was something else to concentrate on.

Switching stance, which foot was in front, was the kind of feint that would do nothing when she was wielding a sword other than put her slightly off balance, but in hand to hand, it was a feint that sometimes made the opponent think she would be launching a kick. That moment of indecision, or of reaction, depending on the opponent, could be capitalised on.

All fights were won and lost in those moments. A sword fight, in real life, was won in a single moment. The moment a blade found its mark.

“She’s moving too much.”

The voice penetrated the concentration Faye had managed to scrounge up. She blinked and looked toward the doorway back inside the house.

Gavan was swaying a little as he stood there, looking at her with bloodshot eyes.

“Why is she moving?” he said, before stumbling down the step into the courtyard.

“Is he still drunk?” she asked.

“No, but I bet he wishes he was.”

“I do.”

Faye hid a smile by turning around and doing some stretches to cool down. Gavan wasn't one for speaking too often, it was funny that a hangover was what changed that.

“Alright, you’re all hungry, I assume?” she asked, ten minutes later. She’d cooled down, then cooled off with water to her face and neck. “I can fix something for you all, wait out here.”

Their moans were all she’d needed for confirmation before slipping back inside the house. Breakfast around these parts consisted mostly of bread and thin slices of cured meats, the occasional cheese, berries that had been made into a tangy, not sweet, spread, and cold sausages that Faye could not get used to.

Cutting generously thick slices of bread, slathering some of the berry mixture on in lieu of butter, and then filling the sandwiches with meat slices, she took a pile out on a tray to the courtyard. Bringing mugs with her, she cleaned them out and poured everyone fresh mugs of water.

“Come on, you three. Up, up, get some food in you. You’ll feel better.”

She took the platter of sandwiches around one by one, making sure that each hungover adventurer grabbed at least one, then left their mugs by their hand.

The flavours weren’t quite what she was used to, but the sandwich was full of flavour. She savoured it, and grinned as the adventurers slowly started picking themselves up after a few bites of the sandwiches.

“Mmm, you’ve put the yama berry paste with the meat!”

She nodded. It was odd, she would admit that to herself, but it worked. Better than a dry sandwich, at any rate.

“I always put them together, it’s so good.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she said. “So, listen. None of you are allowed to train me…”

Groans from all three of them.

“Come on, Faye, you didn’t even wait until we’d finished.”

She grinned and took another bite of her sandwich. “Okay, that’s fair.”

“I wish there were more mages in town,” Gavan muttered, suddenly. He wasn’t looking at anyone. His half-eaten sandwich was in his hand, and as he slowly chewed a mouthful, he carefully spoke around it. “If there were, there would be other people to cure headaches.”

Arran and Ailith shared a look, grinning.

Faye frowned at them. “If he can cure headaches, why are you all suffering so much?”

“Because he can’t cast that spell in this state.”

Opening her mouth in a silent “oh,” Faye smiled too. Knowing that the man could cure himself if only he wasn’t so hungover was pretty funny.

“If I could heal you, I would, Gavan.”

“Of course,” Gavan suddenly said, as if he hadn’t heard Faye speak at all, “not just any mage can cast that spell at will…”

Ailith let out a laughing huff, chewing steadily through a second helping of sandwich. Arran was pulling more water from the spigot and gestured for everyone’s mugs. Ailith and Faye threw theirs over, at the same time, and laughed when Arran mock-glared at them for it.

“If only there was someone in the town,” Gavan went on, seemingly oblivious, “trained and qualified to teach magic to people…”

Faye heard him loud and clear. The Administrator had forbidden her friends from training her, partly as their punishment and partly as hers, she was sure.

As much as it angered Faye that the Guild would do that to someone who so obviously needed the help that the Guild was presumably supposed to offer, she also acknowledged that she had been a difficult to control unclassed person, in their eyes.

But, that didn’t matter. Gavan was suggesting that someone in the town was qualified and, more importantly, allowed to train her.

“Who is it that trains magic in Lóthaven, then?” she asked.

No one said anything.

She scowled. There was no way the Administrator would consider them telling her who to speak to as training, is there?

The way that Gavan had immediately shut up, concentrating solely on finishing his breakfast and drinking from the mug in small sips, told her that she would get nothing more from him.

She turned to look at Ailith. The woman grinned at her.

“I see why you’d think so, but no, we all swore.”

“Ugh, fine!”

Faye had changed into more locally appropriate clothing, a woollen dress on top of a thin linen shift, creating a rather cute two-layered ensemble that she rather liked. She still wore her own shoes, they fit better than anything the adventurers had in the house.

When Ailith had given her the clothes, she had asked her where she’d gotten them from — the other woman was far too broad and tall for her own clothes to fit Faye — but she hadn’t told her much. Just said that the woman they’d belonged to didn’t need them anymore.

It was getting colder, day by day, but the meagre sun had warmed up the air a little since she’d first woken. The centre of each street through the town was bathed in light. That was a major benefit of no buildings over two storeys, at least, nothing tall to block the rays of the sun in winter months.

It seemed that despite the cold wind and chill, the weak sun rays were enough to bring the locals out in droves. They wound through the streets of the town, calling out to one another, speaking in small groups, and generally embodying what Faye imagined when she thought of a town without much entertainment at home.

The conversations were wildly different from person to person and each one was interesting in its own way. That couple were arguing over something to eat, that group were discussing trades they had made at the market, those two were discussing the previous night’s events.

Lóthaven was a strange place, in Faye’s eyes, because one moment she was walking along streets that were filled with what looked like ordinary homes and the next she was amongst buildings that looked for all intents and purposes like a modern high street: except with less glass.

Large, bi-fold wooden, and occasionally metal, shutters were thrown open on each shopfront. Young shop assistants were leaning out of the open windows, hawking whatever the shop specialised in. Some were even bold enough to dart out and grab the hand or arm of someone passing to drag them good-naturedly into the shops.

When the youngsters saw Faye, most of them were too shy to actually try and pull her into the shops, but the boldest of them would point at her and shout directly at her.

“Hey, gold-hair! Yeah, you, you’ll love these. My Pa’s are the best in town!”

“Nah, that’s my Ma’s! Come in here, you’ll be glad you did.”

The bickering was funny, as long as she didn’t think too long about how she had no means of purchasing anything these shops had.

Her will not to enter was strong… until a somewhat apathetic early teen called out when Faye happened to be in earshot.

“Best collection of books in Lóthaven, guaranteed.”

She came to a halt, a few steps away from the teen. He was leaning against the wall next to the shop’s open windows, one foot braced up the wall, so his knee was sticking out. If this was back home, this would be the quintessential ‘cool kid’ look — except Faye had never thought those kids were cool at all.

“What kinds of books do you sell?” she asked him.

He looked up, peering at her through the long fringe of unkempt hair that was somewhat obscuring his vision. “Every kind.”

She rolled her eyes. She couldn’t help it. It was such a typical teenage answer.

Books were worth looking at no matter whether she could afford them or not. The shop itself was surprisingly bright. The opened shutters on the front wall let in a lot of light. There were no other light sources in the shop, so she wondered how they would manage on rainy days.

The bookshop looked like any she’d have found back home. Shelves filled with tomes of all sizes covered each wall, and the centre of the shop had a large set of shelves that carried more books. The free space in the shop was shaped in a vague horseshoe shape that had a counter at the top of the U.

There was another patron speaking to the woman behind the counter, so Faye left them to it. She gently lifted a small book from the nearby shelf, looking over its somewhat worn cover and not seeing a title. There was a design of some kind embossed into the cloth, however. It wasn’t an image that she recognised, so she assumed it meant something. A symbol, perhaps.

Inside, the paper was thin and fluttery. It reminded Faye of newspapers, the kind that could rip just by looking at it funny. She carefully opened the first few pages. The beginning of the book was blank, she thought it could be a blank notebook. But a few pages later, inked symbols appeared.

Once they did, she internally cursed. She had managed to forget she couldn’t read a word of this world’s language.

Nevertheless, she looked over the page. The lettering was written in a fine hand, thin and accurate lines spun across the page. The letters themselves were most often represented with sharp corners and straight lines than they were loops or curves.

Putting the book back on the shelf, Faye picked up a second.

This one was larger, and the cloth of the previous book cover had been replaced with leather. Opening this one proved that not only the cover was more expensive, but the paper inside was thicker, higher quality as well.

Looking at the lettering, Faye wasn’t sure if it was printed or handwritten. Each shape was precisely made, but there was something about the quality that told her that it was handwritten, despite the regularity of the letter shapes.

It looked to be in the same lettering as the previous book, but the lines in this tome were thicker. She assumed that didn’t mean anything and it was purely aesthetic, but she couldn’t be sure.

Sighing, Faye put the book down.

She glanced at the other end of the shop to see the seller staring at her.

She blinked, then smiled.

The woman frowned, then came out from behind the counter and sauntered forward.

“I take it you didn’t like either of those versions,” she said. “I saw your scowl from the other side of the room.”

“Oh, no, sorry. They’re great, but I… well, I realised I couldn’t read them.”

The woman stopped short for a moment, then carried on. She picked up the book Faye had chosen to check. It was the more expensive one. The seller leafed through a few of the pages Faye had touched.

“And yet you came in here?” the woman asked. “I wasn’t sure why a customer that had just entered the shop would first pick up A History of the Northern Treadu Bay Trading Clans. I suppose not being able to read makes sense.”

“I love reading,” Faye said, looking around at everything. “I wish I could read your books.”

“What language do you read that you cannot read these?”

“English,” Faye said.

The bookseller blinked. “What did you just say?”

“I said English, it’s the language that I’m hearing and speaking right now. What language are you speaking?”

The next word that the woman said was lost, for a moment, as Faye’s ear heard something different than what her brain was telling her she’d heard.

“I speak the people’s tongue.”

She repeated herself, slowly. This time, Faye caught each sound instead of the meaning of the word her brain was telling her.

“Bhua tránn dei Cró chi.”

“What is the name of your language?” Faye asked, “Just the name.”

“Cró.”

It sounded a little like ‘crow’, to Faye. She shrugged. “Alright, Cró it is. Well, I can’t read Cró, but I can read English.”

“Well, I can’t say that I’ve met someone with that much of a different tongue they couldn’t read my books,” the bookseller said. “But then again, there are plenty of folk here that don’t read at all.”

“Do you know someone that might be able to teach me?” Faye asked.

“The old schoolmaster might be able to, he teaches the children as much as he can. Don’t go bothering him when the children are there, mind you. They get distracted enough as it is. We need them to learn as much as they can, before they’re stolen away by their parents.”

The woman wandered back towards the counter. She moved the books, here and there, making sure that the spines were aligned, wiping dust away from them, the usual. Faye was struck for a moment how familiar the woman’s actions seemed.

But then, she caught sight of a stack of rolled up paper that she hadn’t noticed before. Each scroll was a varied shade of yellow and off-white. They looked incredibly aged, and that incongruous thing brought the reality of her location slamming back into place.

“Well, if there’s nothing else I can help you with?”

Faye looked up, nodded absently, and turned to leave.

“Good luck.”

She looked over her shoulder. The woman’s look wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t exactly kind, either.

“Thanks.”

The teen was still standing against the wall of the shop, but now he was talking to a group of other teens. Faye caught something about skills but didn’t linger to listen.

She had a teacher to find. There were questions she needed answering. This world was strange enough without people blaming her for things she couldn't possibly know already.