Thirst.

I was unbearably and very noticeably thirsty.

I rolled my tongue to the roof of my mouth to find it was uncomfortably dry, a texture resembling sandpaper. That was the first thing that I registered. The second was the shot of hazy confusion when it became a struggle to open my eyes. It was a hindrance to move . My legs and my arms felt weighed down. My bed felt different. Disturbingly so. The mattress was stiffer, my blankets rougher. My pillows didn't feel like duck-feather-stuffed-cases. It also wasn't warm. The room was oddly chilly. This tidbit part of information only managed to make me more addled.

….what in the world?

There was a nearby creak, and I groaned - it must be Mia sneaking around my room. My spine tensed when a voice I didn't find familiar at all sliced into the silence.

"Mama!" it shouted, followed quickly by the sound of a chair being pushed backwards, then the pitter patter of feet, –small feet– running away. "Mama! She's waking up!"

It sounded like it came from someone young, someone about Mia's age. Maybe it was her friend, but that wouldn't explain why he was calling for "mama". I needed to have a word with her about the boundaries of letting strangers into my room- especially when I was asleep.

Craning my head to the side, I finally peeled open my eyes.

And froze.

My startled eyes snapped around the unrecognizable room, body still as a statue for a few mouth-breathing moments before I forced myself up. An alarmed wince hissed out between my teeth, muscles screaming a big fuck you for trying to move. My motions were stiff, and I slowly looked down, blinking a few times when I discovered the reason it didn't feel like my bed.

Because, A, it wasn't my bed.

Which only begged the question circling around my currently fried brain.

B, Who does it belong to?

I rose my gaze and allowed it to drift around the room, to find more questions following suit. The more prominent few being; Where the hell am I ?Did I sleep walk into someone's house?

The latter thought processed and I scrapped it. This wasn't a Goldilocks scenario. I had no memories of too-small or too-big with the final just-right . Nothing was just-right .

Everything was blindingly bright, though it may have been due to the fact I just scarcely reached consciousness. The sun poured in from the window- which was next to the not-my-bed . I had to look twice when I saw the material of the ceiling, which was apparently made of straw , the kind picked by the affluent people who had the money to throw around and desired a more rustic look for their home. The room wasn't simply rustic , I noted, eyes taking in the candle sitting on a small table beside the bed. Or impoverished . The closest word I could come up to describe it would be anachronistic, a house that looked like it belonged to some Luddite.

What sort of backwater place is this?

A shiver ghosted my spine and I rubbed my bare arms. Goosebumps spiked on my skin, gullet tightening when I saw that I wasn't wearing my ordinary, worn, sheep patterned pyjamas. Instead, the clothing I wore clearly wasn't mine, an ill-fitting and poorly maintained dress with no sleeves, its texture a little coarse and itchy around my armpits.

Who do these belong to? Who did this room belong to? Who dressed me?

I didn't want to think about it.

Pivoting my body to the side, I swung my legs off the edge and peered through the squared window, flinching at the cold floor.

"What- " my mouth closed. I grimaced at the sound of my own hoarse whisper, finding discomfort when I tried to speak.

I was thrown off by the sights outside, and felt a pang of unease. My first impression was that I was somewhere in the countryside, or somewhere like Wales . Large fields, with so many more trees than back home. A blanket of green, with herbs scattered across the plane. The sky was dull, rolling over with various patches of grey and a very light blue.

Same British weather, I thought to myself wryly.

In the corner of my eye, a figure moved into the open door and I jumped, feeling my back pressing against the very solid wall, putting a small distance from the unexpected visitor and myself.

The person who entered the room was a woman, blonde hair tucked in a loose bun, with a few messy strands poking out in every direction. In the middle of her face was a long, straight nose. On the corner of her chin, there was a dark mole. Chocolate eyes stared at me from underneath unusually unkempt eyebrows on a broad forehead. She wasn't necessarily unattractive, but she certainly had an odd look about her.

What caught my eye was her clothes. A simple green thigh-length frock that resembled the rash inducing material of my current clothes, the dress mildly complimented by the corset tightly accentuating her waist. Clothing that looked like she just walked out from a renaissance fair , dressed in a fashion from a bygone era. Just like the house, they pair off almost nicely.

A shorter person, with the familiar pattern of small feet, trailed after them. A petite hand gripped onto the woman's long skirt and a pair of shy, green eyes peered out from behind it. Judging by the crows feet forming at her eyes, mild wrinkles on her pale complexion - I guessed the woman was older, and by the way she was shielding the young one from view I gave a fair assumption it was her kid or little brother.

"Jonathan, go wait in the church with Sister Adelaide." She firmly broke the uncertain silence. An odd twang to her voice. She watched me carefully, but addressed the hiding child.

"But mama-" he began to speak his defiance, his jaw clamping shut when she shot him a singular look. The little boy nodded his head, if a little begrudgingly, and quickly jogged away. This only confirmed the obvious; her kid .

My eyes followed the little boy until he was gone from sight, before shooting back to the stranger. She also appeared to be watching but turned her head to me, her hand pulling the handle without removing her sceptical gaze off me. The door closed with a click. There was a pregnant pause. My heart lifted into my throat when she suddenly whirled to face me. Face relatively friendly, but dark eyes analytical. She rose stiff arms to cross along her chest. "What's yer name, stranger?"

Still on the bed, I slowly put my feet to the cold, wooden floorboards, leaving my hands either side of my legs to grip the edges of the cruddy bed. My mind was still hazy, and it was difficult to gather my bearings enough to answer her inquiry. A moment later, a rough hand pressed against my shoulder gently. "I don't suggest getting up yet, just this morn' yer lips were blue as a whale's. Body still needs to rest."

Why does my head feel ready to split open?

My eyebrows dipped at the uncomfortable contact. My mind was buzzing with questions that I decided to relay to her, despite the annoyance it was to speak with a parched throat and dried tongue. "Who are you?" I cast a hasty look around once more, settling my eyes back on her face. "What happened to me?"

"Yolande," she introduced, the firm edges to her wary gaze softened slightly. "Can't really say what happened to ya since I ain't got no clue myself. Goidermar, me 'usband, told me he fished ya out the sea, said he found you clinging onto a piece of driftwood, he did. Body cold like a corpse. Thought you were one too, till you coughed."

Excuse me?

A pause, to process her accent and the words she spun. I reeled back, as far as I could into the mattress, and stared at the woman. "What ?"

"As I said before, young'en," The lady must have seen the look on my face that I was sending her, because her mouth curved into a frown. "Need I repeat me'self? Ye were shipwrecked, m'love."

My eyes fixated on hers, brain stuttering. My thoughts rushed in an unstoppable tsunami, overwhelming me to the point I couldn't force the breath into my lungs. Images played in my head. Puzzle pieces that didn't take me too long to put together.

The scent of the salt water was soothing. My dress swayed lightly in the breeze. I wrapped my fingers around the cold, metallic railing and leaned on my toes, droplets sprinkled onto my cheeks.

No.

The huge, white vessel charged. Strong. It sliced through the ocean with relative ease, seawater curling and slashing violently against the big body.

Holy shit.

I was on a boat.

Was it true? Did the boat sink? What happened?

My gut clenched to a sickening grip and the disgusting taste of bile burned in my mouth. I swung my legs off the bed, throwing the scratchy blanket to the floor. "Fer cryin' out loud-!" The woman raised her voice, her lilt more prominent when she did so, shoving me back onto the bed. "Ya ain't well enough, stay down ya bleedin' cretin!"

But I couldn't pay attention to her. The tightness was nauseating. I slapped my hand over my mouth, fighting it. The woman in front of me quickly caught on, and moved away. A few seconds later she shoved a bucket in my face. I hurled. The vomit violently plummeted into the bottom of the pail, my hands turning pale when grasping the edges. The woman kindly held up my hair so it wouldn't get caught in the mess.

Shipwrecked.

It wasn't… possible.

But I thought back. Flashes abundantly flickered through my hazy brain. There was a storm.

Dark clouds rolled over. Blinding green light. A horrifying roar followed. Bellowing cries. A frightening crack, the sail caught flame, panicked eyes flickering to me-

My breath hitched.

I lifted my head, opening my lips to ask her another question. The flowing puke cut me off, spilling out. My abdomen tensed and I choked. By the time I was done, she took the bucket and offered me a wooden mug filled with water. My hands quivered, legs like jelly. Everything felt weak, and I hated it.

"Keep takin' sips missy." She ordered, helping my legs back up onto the bed. I gingerly leaned back, listening to her. " Ey, see? I did warn ya didn't I? " She put the blanket back over me, using a tone that reminded me of a stern mother scolding their child. "Yer body is still weak, so don' try tha' again."

I did as she said and tentatively sipped from the mug, wincing at the burn still in my throat and the nasty taste staining my mouth. When she was done fussing over me, I made it a mental note to ask if she had a spare toothbrush.

She knelt by the floor, picking the bucket up by it's handle. When she came back with it emptied, I nodded toward her in thanks. She grunted and sat down. The bed dipped down under her weight. "Thank you."

"No problem, lass," Yolande dismissed with ease, her lips thinning. "Jus' take it easy there, yeah? Ya been through an ordeal, ain't ya? Would do no good to hurt yer'self."

I couldn't concentrate well. The sound of my friend's frantic yells rang in my skull.

"Can I just ask…" her concerned expression merged with curiosity. I cleared my throat, curling and fidgeting with my fingers around the mug handle. "… was anyone with me?" My voice stuttered. "-m-my friend was on the boat. His name is Dean."

An icy trepidation trickled down the back of my neck when I saw the pitiful glint. Please tell me he's not- "Sorry love, my 'usband found no one else with ya. Ye were by ya lonesome."

He's not… he can't…

A sort of numb fog clouded my mind and I shook my head. My chest squeeze in pain. "Are you-" my voice broke, I coughed and sharply inhaled. "Are you certain? No one? "

Yolande's softening eyes gazed at me with sympathy. A lump formed in my throat and I wanted her to stop. "Not a clue, wouldn't know until me 'usband gets back with some others from the village. They wen' out to see if they can find anyone else after he brought ya in."

This can't be happening.

"When are they back?" I quickly asked, asking again with a sharper tone than intended when she took too long to answer, she didn't seem bothered. "When are they back? "

"Latest by dusk, right now it's barely noon."

Breathing was important. I had to breathe. It was hard, but I managed to force myself to calm down a bit, deeply inhaling and exhaling in an attempt to control my heartbeat, which was haywire right now.

Yolande obviously sensed my distress and reached out, calloused hand holding onto my small fingers. For a moment, she was taken aback, by what I didn't know, but she quickly overcame it. "Ye'll be alright, lass."

I knew that worrying myself would just cause stress, yet I couldn't help the reverting nausea. A dizzy spell swirling around me. I tensely nodded and laid back down, pressing my head against the bed frame.

"Where did I wash up, anyway?" I wondered aloud to Yolande, trying to distract my mind from the morbid images manifesting in my head. "Where are we?"

There was the case I didn't have my passport. I didn't have money. My own phone was most likely dead from all the water. Judging by how nice Yolande has been so far she'd most likely let me use hers.

Her answer threw me off. "Outskirts of Bergen, Barony of Stralsund."

I blinked at her, starting to fear just how far I was from home. I was never good at geography. Yolande spoke English so that was at least a saving grace, though it sounded reminiscent of old Cockney. "Never … uh, heard of it."

"West o' Kirkwall, just shy o' the Planasene Forest."

As far as I was concerned she was mainly speaking gibberish. The only part of that I comprehended in my emotional, weak state was Kirkwall. I faintly registered the name, and knew it sounded distantly familiar. Kirkwall… Kirkwall… where have I -

Wait. No way. Kirkwall. As in the Orkney islands of Scotland?

"Holy shit," I choked on my spit, breaking into a coughing fit. "Kirkwall? "

"Long way from home, then?" She inquired, and I faintly registered my small nod.

"Something like that," I mumbled under my breath, pulling the blanket up to my chin in a poor attempt to comfort myself. I couldn't snug into this. It was too… itchy.

"Sorry to 'ear that," she said, though it sounded more matter of factly than anything else. "I would suggest ya try talkin' to the port authority in Kirkwall, but the city's some way off, and the roads ain't very safe these days. Doubt they'll be much of a help 'owever, lately they can't even look after a warehouse without half the goods getting stolen right under them noses. But it's something I suppose."

Sounded like the authorities here were having trouble keeping things under control. Don't tell me this was one of those small towns where some criminal kingpin had more power than the local mayor/governor and owned the town in all but name. Not exactly a comforting thought, especially in the middle of nowhere.

I pursed my lips, a thought popping into mind. "Have you got a phone I can borrow?"

"Phone? What's that?"

Wait, what? I blinked, and stared at her, waiting for her confused face to break out into a cheesy smile and say 'gotcha bitch' but she continued to give me the most befuddled look. What on earth? She isn't aware of phones? Is she… like, Amish or a Luddite or something? Were Amish even aware of technology, or did they just forbid themselves from going near? Was I that ignorant? Was she in a medieval cult?

"Phone." I started, hoping she was just having a brain fart. I held my hand up to my ear, thumb up and pinkie outstretched in a gesture to mimic the shape of a phone. My voice became unsure. "You know, used for the ring ring, apps, Facebook, Youtube, social media as a whole…" Her face remained blank. "A communication device…?"

Sheesh. I knew some people in the world had it hard, but she didn't even know what it was? Was she poor? Was this place some third world country? My worries about my exact location were magnified. Did this mean I couldn't even get a payphone nearby? Was this a place of violence if the rules were broken and ruled by tyranny.

I'm still in Scotland, right?

"Payphone?" I tried after her perplexed glance. Her look didn't change. "Similar to a phone, but usually found randomly in the street."

I stared in disbelief, when no recognition registered.

"What yer describin' -It sounds like magic ." Where one who hasn't heard of such a thing before, instead of the look of awe and cynicalism one would expect, her look took on an entirely different one. Her melting chocolate eyes hardened, unease clearly flickering across her face.

"More like modern technology." I corrected, starting to wonder if she was in a cult. One that didn't approve of such devices. It brought up a question about my own, but I held my tongue at the sharp narrow of her eyes. Something told me she wouldn't take too kindly to me owning a phone.

"Sounds like a bunch of magic, if ya ask me."

Her abundant dislike had soured the air to an awkward manner, and I really wanted to leave. A question slapped me in the face then.

Why didn't she bring me to a hospital? Why bring me to her house? Why not a doctor? Unless she was one. Still, why not a hospital? Where it's clean, where it's got a bunch of needed equipment around. Why didn't she phone an ambulance? Or was I not worse enough to be brought to a hospital?

"Are you a nurse?" I asked.

Her brow creased. "No."

Frustrated, I swatted my hand. "Nevermind."

I left that where it was, knowing I had to leave as soon her husband was back. If she didn't even know about medical professions, modern electronics and lived in an incredibly old fashioned hut, I doubted she was able to help me much further.

Just need to wait for her husband.