I slowly made my way over to one of the buildings that had a small stable next to it and pushed open the door. I was greeted by a rustic interior that I suppose all backwater villages would have: Fireplace in the middle of the one-room building, roaring with enough of a blaze to heat the place. Fur-lined cots off to the side, a sparsely-decorated small table in the opposite corner with a set of chairs to match. Racks filled the rest of the space, adorned with various tools and weapons one would need to survive the frozen wastes.

A man with a thick beard and skin as dark as the hides he wrapped himself in looked up from stringing a bow. After taking several seconds to size me up, he decided that the egg-shaped woman with glowing eyes and a village's worth of clothes was no threat to him. He rattled off a rough greeting in a tongue I did not recognize. Possibly a local dialect, heavy as it was on consonants and an over-reliance on K's and V's.

“Tradespeak,” I replied as I set my bloated pack on the wooden planks of the floor.

The man smiled and effortlessly switched to common tongue. “Ah, yes, sorry.” His accent was still thick as molasses, though. “Are you the one I received the message from? The crazy woman who needs help navigating the snows northward?”

“That would be me,” I said with a nod and a flicker of amber light from my eyes. “The sooner we can leave, the better.”