Padfoot and I were after a doe, and normally it would be a difficult chase what with me dodging the dog, and the dog trying to chase it away. However after months of herding small children around the village his breed's natural proclivity for herding things had woken up full force, and our clumsy efforts of before were much more streamlined. Now he was herding the deer, right towards me with no illusions that this may be a game.

A slow breath out, quick draw, rapid release, and we were one deer richer. Being raised almost completely on a hearty diet of meat with plenty of exercise available Padfoot was on the upper end of size for his breed, this lead to him being a good six feet tall on his hind legs. On all fours he made the perfect pack mule. I could tie my supplies to him, but the deer would have drug the ground and gotten tangled in his legs, so it was my job, though the dragging part still rang true, but two legs were easier to keep track of than four. I stumbled into town with it, dropping it off at Ian's house, and made my way to the inn.

I waded through the crowd and almost changed my mind about speaking to Lisbet, the amount of free time she had dramatically decreased near meal times, and these people decided to have made the middle of the evening their prefered time to eat today. I couldn't even find a seat, and Lisbet's gentle voice startled me from behind as I searched,

"Krumran is back."

She grinned at the way I jumped, moving quickly to the table she'd been headed for before spotting me, and I took that as a dismissal, fighting my way back out of the Inn. After a few hacking coughs to get used to air after the smoky atmosphere of the inside I whistled for Padfoot. When he didn't' appear for several seconds I whistled again. Still nothing. I sighed, heading for the part of the market Krumran tended to frequent. It was likely the dog had beat me there anyway. I could see the giant ball of fluff in the distance as I got closer, dodging through the crowds with a dark brown blur.

Krumran made a business of trading small trinkets he could carry on his person whilst performing the duties of a go-between of some sort. It seemed to be common wherever the hell I was, where a third party would travel between towns to conduct negotiations. It seemed they trusted no one other than a dwarf to keep blacksmiths honest. I wasn't sure what could have brought him to town this time, I was just glad he was here. During his last visit, right at the year mark of my arrival to the village, he'd alluded to the fact he may be returning home, wherever that may be, once business was done. The fact that I could see his favorite maroon traveling tunic showing made me think he was wrapping things up here for good.

It felt like someone hit me with a hammer for a few seconds before I shook it off, he had a life of his own, he wasn't going to stick to this corner of the world for long, I'd known that even before I'd made friends with him, or even realized what species he was. Still, it hurt to know that one of the few people I enjoyed speaking with regularly was no longer going to be in my life. The thought was so incredibly foreign, where for all of my life going 'away' didn't mean 'no contact'. Even with my mother on mission trips to foreign countries entire continents away we would get phone calls and hear her voice, and towards the end of her life Skype became a thing and we could see her no matter the distance. Unless there was magic mirror tech lying around somewhere this visit would likely be the last time I ever saw my friend. A year wasn't the longest I'd had a friend, but in this place it seemed both the blink of an eye and an eternity all at once.

I tried to drink in the sight of him, as I got closer, committing him to memory, the first non-human intelligent creature I'd met, a dream for every fantasy nerd, or a worst fear depending on your specific brand of poison, I suppose. Krumran was a few inches shorter than me but broader, seemingly made up entirely of muscle with a rather wide and prominent nose, small wrinkles found here and there along his face though there wasn't a hint of grey in his dark hair. His hair was long, of course, and very thick, braided on either side of his head then on into his beard in such a way it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. There were ornaments and beads braided in that I hadn't really paid much attention to but now I wished to know the story and significance behind each and every one of them, though god knows if he'd ever tell me, dwarvish secrecy being what it is.

Remarkably enough the dwarf noticed me first, rather than the dog. He waved, his grin only visible through his beard from the bright flash of white signaling a brief glimpse of teeth, calling out,

"There you are! I had wondered how he got away from you. Halldor said you were out on a hunt, I'm glad you made it back early."

I scoffed, catching up to walk at his side as he waded through the crowded market.

"Please, you know Halldor adds at least three days onto his estimate of my time because I'm female."

I saw the hint of a smile before he was turning away to look at some vendors wares, but his voice still reached me,

"Your speaking is getting better. I daresay I'm almost impressed with your progress."

I preened under the compliment, clicking my tongue to keep Padfoot from attempting to make friends with a sour faced man who was counting coins with an intense look of concentration. Elbowing the dwarf lightly to get his attention I jerked my chin at the bag on his back,

"Did you ever sell the piece you brought from home?"

It was the knife he'd spent hours explaining to me, slightly longer than the hunting knife I'd gotten in week one of my stay here, and exponentially nicer. The price had put me off from it, and everyone else as well. No one wanted to touch the thing, though the delicate leaf design, a step away from the usual dwarven style, kept me asking about it every time I saw him. The stones set in red to imitate berries reminded me too much of my namesake for me to let it go, though they no doubt called it something entirely different here, if they even had it anywhere.

Just as I had hoped he shook his head, scowling,

"Of course not, no one here has the proper appreciation for dwarven craft. Oh, they'll take our advice and attempt to suss out our secrets, but when it comes for them to spend gold suddenly they're not sure if we know our hammers from our-"

Before he could finish what was no doubt an amusing rant someone motioned him over, and I could see they immediately got into an argument over something or another. I resisted the urge to get out my coins and count them once more, I knew I had enough, barely enough, but enough. I'd saved for an entire year, my priorities going kind of funny for most of it. I only had one decent pair of socks now, and I couldn't remember the last time I bought a vegetable, but damnit I wanted that knife. When he'd skipped town early last time I'd been worried that I'd saved for nothing, and that I'd leave him with yet another greedy human who refused to buy dwarf wares. For all that I spent a long time following him around I had never bought anything from him.

When he finally returned to my side, I interrupted whatever he was complaining about involving the shopkeeper, I couldn't understand half of it from how he was cursing so much in his own language anyway. Pulling him to a quiet corner between two near deserted stalls got his attention and he lowered his voice, concern tinging it,

"Is Wymark causing trouble again?"

I rolled my eyes, momentarily distracted, swiping my hair out of my face and keeping half my mind on where Padfoot was wandering.

"He's always causing trouble, but this isn't about him. You still want the same price for that knife?"

The dwarf didn't even finish nodding before I had pulled out the coin purse, beaming triumphantly. I pulled it open, still keeping half an eye on Padfoot and sifting through the coins to pull out the few that went over the price of the knife. I took a second to be grateful tax wasn't a thing in this moment and stuffed the few coins into my pocket and holding the entire bag out to him.

"Here, just keep the bag, I'm not going to force you to carry that much loose."

Krumran just eyed the bag as if it were a snake and I wilted a bit,

"Count it if you like, I checked three times, it's the right amount."

"...you carry that much gold on your person? You do know that it's dwarven stereotyping to do that, not strange daughter of man?"

I huffed, holding the bag out closer to him and whistling at Padfoot distractedly, he should really know better than to sniff him, the cruel old fart.

"I can't leave it in my room, the window latch is defective and Wymark has friends who aren't afraid to scale the inn. Now are you going to take the gold or not?"
I could see him hesitating, and I couldn't be entirely sure why, so ignored what was polite and asked.

"Why?"

He didn't need clarification, sighing heavily and eyeing me from under thick, caterpillar eyebrows.

"I was tasked with selling the knife because my people have fallen on hard times, and yet I could say the same for you. Thin, young, alone somewhere obviously far from home. How could I justify taking money from a friend who is also so obviously in need?"

I snorted,

"If that's all that's troubling you. I don't need gold. I survived on my own in the wild without it for far longer than I've lived with it." True, we used a cotton fiber 'paper' money back home. "Besides, it would only be taking the money if I was shaken down for it or something, I'm convinced that knife of yours is worth ten times this, so if anything I'm the one 'taking' in this equation."

He huffed,

"Please, you didn't even try to barter for it!"

"Argue with a dwarf over the value of his own wares? I'm young, not impaired."

He snorted, eyes finally lightening and a smile shining from under his beard. He pulled out the knife, small decorations along the hilt gleaming in the light filtering through the cracks between the buildings around us.

"It's a pretty thing, but it will hold no matter what you put it through. Do you remember what I told you about it, that day we first met when your friend shouted my race in front of all and sundry?"
I grinned at him, laughing a I nodded,

"Of course, how could I forget. Metal folded in on itself as it was heated. My vocabulary wasn't up to it at the time to really contribute to the conversation, but it reminded me of the way ancient warriors from my home would have their weapons forged."

Now I have no Japanese ancestry at all, as far as I'm aware, but 'from home' to me includes the entire planet that I originated from, so I was claiming the Samurai damnit. I'd put a pin in that conversation back when I couldn't communicate more than the most basic of principles and ideas, and now that he'd reminded me I spilled as much of the history and as many stories as I could remember. We relocated to the pub, still speaking about it, with the knife tucked into a plain leather sheath and hidden on my person. As fascinated as he was by the stories and theories I was throwing his way I knew that he'd noticed how I'd changed the subject from the hard times myself and his people were going through. It was his nature to let it go, to let it go and allow me to pretend that everything was okay, and I was counting on that.

For the rest of the night we bantered and exchanged stories and metalworking theories, though the latter came mostly from bare facts of history and science I'd read in my scholastic career. It was amazing the seemingly useless facts that had stuck in my head, both to me and to Krumran himself. Lisbet stopped by several times to refill our drinks and chat, changing the direction of the conversation she left each time. Nights like that were my favorite, and I had so few to hold onto given how long it had taken me to pick up an entirely new language. There was a small vein of self-pity to my thoughts as I went to bed that night, easily ignored when Padfoot snuggled in close to me and huffed so cutely in his sleep. We'd get over one of our friends heading home, we'd have to.

Of course after the wonderful evening we had murphy's law had to come to life and bit us in the ass. Or, well, me. My ass. Said ass was parked peacefully in a chair at the inn, some of my last few coins spent on this place's version of a fluffy breakfast pastry and a cup of coffee. I was enjoying the quiet that came before the lunch rush and slightly after the 'everyone leaving for the day rush' only for shouting to be heard from outside. Of course most everyone rushed outside to see what was going on, and since my dog went with them I followed.

Wymark was standing in the street, still wearing a sleeping cap. He was once a broad man, with small eyes and thick fingers that looked deceptively clumsy. I'd seen his work, he was frustratingly good at what he did, keeping him in general good standing around the village despite his attitude and drinking problem. The shouting only increased as I stopped outside, the man's eyes falling on me and his thick face twisting and turning red, finger jabbing in my direction.

"You! It was you, it had to have been! My life's work has been stolen and here you stand, bold as brass! Arrest her, arrest her now!"

This is entirely too much shit to be dealing with before my second cup of coffee. Haldor seemed to agree, from where he was standing near the irate jeweler, holding his hands up and stepping slightly between us.

"Calm down, let's settle this in a civilized manner."

"Civilized?! How can you expect civility from a barbarian! Look who she consorts with, just look at her, look at what her kin have done to us, to me!"

Of course Krumran had sidled close to me in the madness, and looked thoroughly unamused at being brought into the argument and reminded how some around here were uneasy of his kind, though he was visibly intrigued by the mention of my 'kin', and was struck by how odd it was that neither Lisbet nor I had told him how I'd ended up in this little village.

Before Haldor could speak again someone emerged from the inn, swinging the door open forcefully with a loud 'bang' and brandishing an emerald around the size of his thumb.

"Look! Found in the barbarians room! See how she squirrels away her hoard?"
There were whispers and I cleared my throat, mind flitting between my options before words escaped my mouth without my permission.

"Prove it."

His smile sagged,

"...what?"
"You say that came from my room? Where? How did you get in when the door is locked? Why did you go searching my rooms so quickly and without permission or an order? Why do it alone when there's no one to back your word that it was indeed found among my things?"

He turned red, and I couldn't tell whether it was from fury or embarrassment, whatever he was about to say cut off when Haldor interjected,

"Peace! I will investigate this personally. Until me and my men come to a conclusion all parties will remain in the village and out of our way."

He left, and I couldn't help but wonder what he was going to do to 'investigate'. I could probably mess around and create dust and adhesive or paint or something to lift fingerprints, and then use ink and paper to fingerprint everybody in town, but honestly at this point no one would trust me to do something like that, and if I had stolen Wymarks prized project then I wouldn't stick around. Then again, leaving abruptly would also have been cause for suspicion...I didn't know much about crime and investigation other than what I'd read in novels and seen in CSI and Sherlock. Who even knew how things like that worked here.

As the crowd of watchers dispersed, some of Wymarks close friends drawing him aside comfortingly, I couldn't help but hear the snatches of whispers as Krumran dragged me away.

"-always was a strange one-"

"-the dog wasn't with her yesterday evening was he?"

"No, no, he wouldn't exactly be good for stealth and sneaking around, now would he?"
I snorted at the last one, despite how it would probably be a good point in the evidence pushed against me. Padfoot actually was capable of stealth, he helped with hunting after all. I was yanked out of my thoughts and eavesdropping quite literally by the dwarf as he dragged me into the inn and to a quiet corner. It wasn't out of sight, just out of hearing. He glowered at any and everyone that passed us, hissing under his breath.

"This is ridiculous! Imagine, them referring to you as a thief. You! Do men often baselessly accuse their own young of crimes?"

"Not their own young, but I'm not exactly one of them, now am I?"
He sighed, pulling out his pipe and glaring at a youth that had the misfortune of passing too close to him. Once he had the pipe lit and a few puffs down to calm his temper he blew out a smoke ring and turned his dark eyes to me.

"I've never asked why that man held such a grudge against you, I always thought it wasn't my place to inquire for details on your past when I never contributed much of my own. But...now I think it best to fold. What happened between the two of you?"
He looked like he didn't honestly expect me to answer, and for a second I debated skirting the question. It wouldn't do me any good, I decided. He was my friend, one of the few I had here in this strange place, especially with the weird turn the morning had taken. With Lisbet caught up in spending time with her new husband, who I didn't exactly approve of by the way, I was left on my own more often than not. I had no doubt the dwarf would have good advice to offer if he knew what was going on. So I shrugged with half a shoulder and twisted my mug between my hands, focusing my eyes on a spot a little to the right and up of his ear, on the wall behind him.

"It...wasn't exactly between the two of us, it has to do with our families...clashing, if you could call it that."

"Ah, so this is a blood feud? Nasty business, that is."

I snorted,

"Ph, not exactly. I...come from very, very far away from here. There was...a tragedy of sorts, and my people were scattered across these lands. I don't actually know the story, and those that could explain it to me are dead. But I'll tell you what I know."

He looked completely intrigued and invested from that short blurb alone, and I couldn't help but wonder who he'd side with in this. These people were so strange, it was said back home that the language one thought in could affect personality and the very way someone thought, and the language here was so very different from what I was used to...I took a drink of coffee and grimaced at the weak flavor before continuing.

"I myself was sixteen years old when I found myself alone in these lands, with a puppy." I pointed at where Padfoot was thumping his tail against the side of someone's chair in an attempt to attract their attention to his begging attempt. "He was small enough for me to cart around in my arms, believe it or not. Anyway, we stumbled around like the stupid kids we were until several...well, years later we ran into men on horses. Men that knew my mother tongue." Krumran hadn't moved or reacted yet from what I could see, but when I paused he gave an encouraging motion to continue. "I let my guard down, because the words they used, and their accents, were so familiar. I really shouldn't have. I woke up in a wagon, arms and legs bound, that poor furball was muzzled, and all the other women were terrified of me once I spoke in the language of their captors. I didn't know the language of this land yet, and I couldn't ask them what was going on. I'm actually kind of lucky that our captors were the dramatic sort, because they explained it to me when we stopped."

I clenched my hands around the mug, forcing my expression to stay calm despite how furious I still was at those bastards.

"They learned the language of this land and started up a trade system. They would trick the people of my home...and sell them as slaves. Of course there were fewer and fewer of us left after a while, and eventually those in captivity died out and were replaced, but they were finding less new blood and had turned to picking up the local populace to add to their…'wares'. I was the last one that they had managed to find of our people, and the women with me were those of this village. I aided in distracting our captors so the men of this village could swoop in and save the day, but...Wymark's daughter died before even leaving the village. He blames my kin for his daughter's death, rightly so really, and since they're all dead now that blame falls fully to me in his eyes."

I paused before tacking on,

"This village is the only place I know, in these lands. I haven't dared to leave, despite the tension. Here I have Lisbet, who puts up with me and my language and cultural difficulties."

There was a moment of silence before he sighed heavily,

"Well, this is more of a mess than I had thought. So you're saying that he holds a grudge for something that only peripherally has to do with you, and that you have no kin to stand up for you?"

I blinked, finally meeting his eyes and nodding after a second.

"Um, yeah, I guess."

"Mahal, girl, why do even stay here?"
I huffed,

"No one to stand up for me, remember? I...was on my own, for a long time. I don't mean there was no one to take care of me, I mean complete and utter isolation from anything other than my prey and my dog for years. I'm...not certain it didn't affect my sanity in some way. These people were the first I saw in a long time, and I told myself I was staying because they knew me, and felt they owed me in some small way so it was safe to stay and learn about these lands here, but after a while...I guess I became accustomed to it, and was too afraid to strike out on my own and risk that numbing silence again."

He groaned, rubbing his face as best he could without disturbing the various braids and beads in his beard.

"Not good reasoning, but not the worst I've heard, so I'll let it go for now. What do you plan to do about this accusation?"
"...good question."

This time he looked like he wanted to hit something, puffing on that pipe of his furiously, muttering to himself in a language I didn't understand before sighing out a stream of smoke.

"Alright. Do as you will about it, but I'll be extending my stay by a few days. I was with you most of the night, and though I doubt my word is worth much in the eyes of these men I'll not let my lack of testimony be the reason these accusations stuck."

I restrained myself from hugging him, thought it was a close thing. He did business around town for the rest of the day, continuing to sell wares as best he could and discreetly gather information about what the popular opinions were around the village, while I sat in the inn, in plain view to avoid people saying I was planning on slipping away.

I was jotting down suspects and possible motives, having dismissed the possibility that Wymark could be lying to finally have something done about me, when someone sank into the chair directly to my right. I paused in my writing, and put the pen down completely when I saw who it was. Haldor wasn't an overly kind man, but he wasn't the sort to arrest me just to make the uproar die down and things go back to normal. He opened his mouth a few times, eyes darting from me to the paper, lined with neat cursive, before he cleared his throat.

"Ah, I was going to ask...it doesn't matter. Why did you not inform me you could read and write?"
I shrugged,

"Didn't seem to matter, since it's only in the languages from home anyway."

He left then, without another word, and I could only hope that wasn't a strike against me. Would he take that as me having a history of lying or something? I asked Krumran about it when he returned, and the dwarf only shrugged.

"I think it looks more like you're a private person. I wasn't aware you had such a skill, and I doubt you told Lisbet, now did you? Hmph, thought not. We shall just have to wait and see."

The dwarf was still there when Haldor returned, an object kept behind his back. The dwarfs hand strayed to one of the twin axes at his sides until the man moved the object to before us, handing it to me.

"Here, this was found among your peoples things...back when you first came to be with us. I had thought it would be of no use to you, and obviously I was wrong. I apologize for my assumptions."

With that he turned and basically fled, still managing to look as dignified as always. I held the object gently in shaking hands as Krumran whistled,

"I haven't seen something quite like this before."

"...I have."

It was a notebook, a bound notebook, the stupid kind with black and white speckled fronts that never stayed open properly when you tried to write and were killer on left handed people. After a brief moment of hesitation I opened the cover.

My name is Kyle Shaffer, I am 27 years old.

It was a simple enough way to begin a journal entry for someone crossing worlds, but Kyle had not looked anywhere near 27. I would have guessed he was in his fifties and doing pretty good to keep his health up.

I was on my way home from work when I stumbled in an alleyway. When I looked up I was surrounded by trees. No transition, no feeling of falling like all the stories say, just there and then here.

Well, that was already different from what happened to me. Perhaps that was because, like he said before, things were slowing down in how many people were dropped off, and he thought I was the last. That would make sense, a grand finale of sorts. But the date he said he fell wasn't right. He even wrote it all out in word form, there was no mistaking it. Three days after I fell. How could one year age someone that much? And how could I have missed it if he fell somewhere close by? And the alley he fell from was a town over, only a few miles away from my own. The end of the first entry was basically bitching about how much he hates living in the 'middle ages', and that writing with a quill is a bitch, he was dreading his only pen giving out. Well then.

I moved on to the next entry, and he explained in the very first paragraph that he was keeping the date as if he had never left, in order to keep some semblance of sanity. It was roughly three years after he had fallen through. Three years after the week we would have fallen through hadn't even passed by the time he was killed.

I would blame this damned ancient way of life and the different environment for the advanced signs of aging, and the arthritis but I'm not so sure anymore. I heard someone swearing in English one day in the market. I tracked them down and found it was a man named Carl. He looked like he was around his mid-twenties, but introduced himself as in his seventies. I was skeptical at best but he explained himself pretty quickly. I think he was just grateful to have someone who understood him. He said he fell through on March the third, of the year 2000, and that he had been here for only five years. The time didn't add up with my own arrival, so I decided to test him. I'll admit that breaking the news of a national American tragedy to a war veteran like that was a bit mean, but his reaction more than proved he was not around during September of '01.

I had to close the book for a second and just fume. That ass hole. I was worried that the journal would make me see him as a human being and feel all the more guilty over his death. Instead, I was feeling guilty for wanting to slap a dead guy. After I had taken a few minutes mentally vocalize how much of a heartless dickhead Kyle was I went back to his writings.

I once watched a movie something about a guy named Benji or something, anyway he aged backwards. According to Carl that's what started to happen to him after his arrival. I stuck around with him for a while, and it became obvious that he was indeed telling the truth. It made me doubt that my advanced age was all in my head.

I frowned down at the page, not liking where he was likely to go with this. I had, for a few minutes, thought about the effect changing dimensions would have on my health but after a year of nothing, and another year of more nothing I had assumed it was fine. When mom caught something deadly on a mission trip to a third world country Dad shelled out stupid amounts of cash to have both Terese and I inoculated against fucking everything in existence possible. So illness wasn't too much of a worry for me but interdimensional magic fucking with us...I don't think I had a vaccine for that. Krumran was watching, I could feel his eyes on me, and knew he realized I was distressed by whatever I was reading, but stayed silent so I didn't bother to talk to him, instead turning to the next entry. It wasn't dated.

I met a man named Gordon who spoke English. He says he's from February of 2022. I didn't believe him but damned if that cell phone of his wasn't fancy as hell. Solar powered and the slimmest thing you've seen. It was thin as a piece of paper and with a certain combination of buttons it stops being stiff and can be crumpled up and put into your pocket or folded so it fits somewhere better. Gordon looks like I did when I first arrived, but he tells me that four days from today is his 24th anniversary of arrival. From the look of him it would mean he was born here or something, but he says he was a teen when he arrived, and he just aged slowly. After the strangeness of Carl and the proof of his phone about his origin I'm inclined to believe him. It's like the baby vampire from Breaking Dawn, or the werewolves. We don't know if he'll stop aging eventually, like the former, or just keep at it slowly like the latter.

I closed my eyes for a second to just breathe, trying my best not to think so I could recover for a second. This was one of my worst fears, my being from elsewhere coming back to bite me in the ass in a way that killed me. I spent a split second wondering how this guy knew that much about the Twilight series, then I snapped the book back open, skimming over the story of Clarissa, the first woman they found, who they kept due to her young age. She was from 2008, Christmas Day. She aged quickly, going from 6 to 60 in a matter of months, mind aging the way it should normally, but body outstretching her and dying before she could even speak Westron properly. I nearly cried at the thought of her, but kept shuffling through stories. Kyle found more people, all with strange stories to tell, all of their timelines crumpled together. Apparently, World War Three began in 2043, according to someone named Margaret. She, like many others had been sold to the slave trade. The aging issue had been seen as a boon. Those who aged slowly were given to rich or important customers to make a good name for advertisement. Those who aged quickly or unpredictably were great for creating the need for repeat customers.

I was nearly sick at how much they thought about it, how little regard they had for human life, for the humans from their own country, their own world. Not a soul was from anywhere but America, and all near my town, where I had fallen through. It was near old Indian grounds, but where in America wasn't these days? Those days, I guess. Kyle explained the aging away to his clients with the same reason he explained them not knowing the common language around here. Being foreign, exotic, or a race of magical beings. It explained the wide varieties they had, in size, color, type, and accent as well. They then began branching out to 'local' girls because of the sudden drying up of the dimensional dumping grounds in the middle of the wilderness.

The next to last entry was about 'Tommy Boy', who I had been told about when I was captured. A 12-year-old from 1941 whose parents had sent him to live with his aunt in America when the war started. He aged quickly. Too quickly. According to this by the end of the second month he was an old man, infirm, and unable to walk unaided, though he had aged slower after the initial jump. The most severe case they'd had yet. He was the last male to pop through, with me being the last female. The very last entry was about me.

Our last find was a fiery haired girl who managed to bring her dog with her. The dog had a perfectly fitting collar, so we figure she just fell through. My uncle had a dog like that, with the dew claws on the hind legs. He's still growing rapidly. She had to have just bought the collar he was wearing for it to fit as it does. We'll have to watch her aging closely while she's here with us. It's not visible like that dark-skinned girl whose hair fell out, and grew wrinkles as we watched. She only lasted hours once it kicked in. I have a feeling this one will be good for one of our more loyal buyers over in the White City. The trip should be a good chance to observe her rates, then we can decide how high up the food chain she can be sold.

I dropped the book on the table and put my head in my hands, groaning in despair.

"I do not need this bullshit right now!"

Krumran cleared his throat and I looked up at him warily. He saw the tears forming in my eyes and did what any self-respecting male would do when faced with a female near break down. He politely excused himself and fled. I pushed him out of my mind, unsure which issue to focus on, the townspeople out for my blood, or worrying over the possibility of an immediate and sort of 'natural' death. I voted for neither and instead got some ale and drank myself silly. Yeah, probably not the best option.

The delay is because I actually wrote 21 chapters for this and then decided I didn't like the storyline, so I started over...sorry? Hey, at least this chapter is twice the size of the usual ones for this fic.

~TimeLordOfPie