Reality changed.
It was not a shift of sight but of presence, like waking up mid-step in a dream and realizing you had already crossed a threshold you hadn't seen. The forest vanished. The wolves vanished. Even the pressure of the sword in his hand was gone.
Holding in her hand was a porcelain tea kettle.
"Tea?" the woman offered, her voice unhurried.
Ludwig blinked. He was sitting now. Seated at a low wooden table carved with intricate runes, in a space enclosed by timber walls, every plank aged and darkened with time. A kettle hissed gently on the hearth, the fire beneath it quiet and constant, and the smell of ginger and dried herbs clung warmly to the air.
He didn't remember sitting down. But he was on a chair, looking at the woman in front of him who was far too casual with all this weird stuff going on.
