As her senses slowly returned, Rat found herself in an unfamiliar room. It looked like something out of an old magazine, all smooth lines and vintage furniture, the wood stove next to her an actual honest to god relic of the past.

She stared at the cup in her hands, wondering how it had got there.

The mug was filled with hot water, flavoured with- she took a slow sip- lemon and sugar. There was a strange foamy scum floating on the top, but it wasn't bad. Very sweet.

She took another sip, staring at nothing. There was a chip on the rim, but it wasn't new, and the exposed ceramic was worn and darkened with age.

She gave another sip tilting her head. There was writing on the inside, across the bottom, but she couldn't quite make it out.

She dipped the mug a little, trying to read it. 'this mug needs a refill!' it read, in a sort of jaunty, handwritten font.

Rat considered this as she took another sip. Did the mug need a refill? It seemed alright to her.

Somebody was talking nearby, but their voice was far away and indistinct.

There was a thick, warm blanket wrapped around her, and she realised her coat was gone, that she was down to her base layers, and that there was steam coming off her knees.

She watched the steam rise, and considered this.

-

She awoke in the armchair, either minutes or hours later. Her eyes were already open and staring out of the storm-swathed windows. How long had she been asleep, and where was she?

She gave a surreptitious glance around, blinking her dry, gritty eyes. It was night, and the room was dark, but she- she remembered this? Something about steam...

The dream had been a pleasant one, she thought, but no, she was both awake now, and by the looks of it, in somebody's sitting room. It wasn't as old and weird as the general store, but there was something ancient about the room.

Maybe it was the cast iron stove beside her, warm but not pumping out heat like she remembered from her dream state, or could it be the lines of the furniture?

Somebody had draped a second blanket over her at some point to compensate for the lowered stove, tucking it in under her sides. The thought weirded her out, the idea that somebody had been in the room with her and that she hadn't been aware of them at all.

There was nobody in the room now though, that she could see, but there was a sliver of light emanating from a half-cracked door to somewhere.

She lifted her head. The little piece of floor she could see looked like stone, a kitchen perhaps?

There was the low hum of conversation and laughter coming from that direction, and she pulled the blankets in tighter, stretching upwards to have a better look around.

Her backpack was on the floor by her feet, but it looked flat and empty. Her folding knife and the dice were on lying on the side, but there was no sign of her other belongings.

Her heart tore a little. She had liked that blanket, and the coat had kept her alive. It was possible they were in the other room, but there were people in there…

She pursed her lips, trying to gain focus.

She knew she wasn't welcome here, wherever she was. The cottage she had been searching for, maybe?

Sure, whoever had taken her in obviously felt sorry for her, with the blankets and the warm fire, but that wouldn't last. Once they realised she didn't have a home to return to, that she was their supposed responsibility now, then things would turn sour, and within a couple of days they would demand she leave, faster if they were hard-up for food already.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Rat rested her head on her knees, taking slow, deep breaths. What did she have left?

She had her backpack, she had her knife. There were two warm blankets around her shoulders. For clothing, she was wearing only a button-up shirt and thin trousers, neither of which she recognised. Had they undressed her?

Her stomach tied itself into a monkey's fist, a leaden weight in her middle.

Deep breaths. In and out.

She would be fine. You can get through this. You survived this far; you can survive again.

Deep breaths.

As slow and quiet as her namesake on a rough night, Rat slid out of the chair. As her feet touched the floor, she noted that the wood was warm and smooth, and also that she'd lost her socks. Probably for the best, to be honest, they were worn through even before she had done the walk through the city.

The knife went into a pocket, and one of the blankets into her bag. The inside of it was still a little damp, and a traitorous part of her wondered if she couldn't wait just a little longer, sit a little closer to the stove for a while?

But no, she was an invader here, she didn't belong. They would find out as soon as they saw her awake, and would realise they hadn't taken in a lost child, but a rat. A nuisance. Trouble.

But what if I waited, if they're going to kick me out anyway. What's the difference to me, except a few hours more warmth?

She shook her head. No, that was asking for trouble, and she wasn't stupid. Drug addicts and worse lurked on the streets, just waiting for her to slip up. It only took one wrong move for everything to fall apart. They would kidnap her or hurt her or send her back to her family. Plus, although she didn't know how she'd come to be here in this warm, soft room, nothing ever came for free.

She let out a soft, slow breath, casting her eyes around the room once more.

Only one of the windows had the curtains shut, but there was a door over by a dark shape, what she thought might be a piano.

Somebody had said something about the piano, hadn't they? She couldn't remember. It was all so cold and fuzzy.

She didn't remember her trip through the forest, for all that she must have made it. There was… A cat? An orange cat? Or was that the last time?

She let out a quiet hiss, trying not to react to the violence of the oncoming headache. Deep breaths, think about anything else.

There was another blanket spread over one of the chairs, and she wrapped it around her middle, to replace the one she'd secreted away in her backpack. She thought it might have been blue if the light were better, but here in the moonlight all colours were grey.

She stared back, out of the window and at the storm outside, wishing she still had her straw hat, but the wind had taken it from her, a price paid for entering the forest. She remembered that.

She shivered and stepped away from the chair, backpack under one arm. It was colder now, away from the stove, and she wished she knew where her socks and coat had gone. She'd liked that coat.

She trailed one hand over the lid of the piano, enjoying the smoothness of the polished wood. Hopefully, there would be a porch or a mud room, and her boots would be there, maybe even her coat too.

She tried not to think about the fact she was wearing somebody else's clothing, wrapped in their blankets, standing in their house. That she was stealing from people who had taken her in. They were rich, they could afford it. They had a piano.

She had never been a thief. Ok, the odd bit of lifting, but that was simply the reality of how she had to live, and it was always from the big chain stores, and only when she had no other options. And she only took food, or socks, or the odd pack of hand-warmers. Never anything expensive, and never from anywhere that couldn't take the hit.

And here she was, planning to steal two blankets and a lot of warmth, to reject a host's hospitality and disappear into the night.

Rat looked back and out of the window again, touching the door handle, gazing at the raging storm outside and hearing now the howling of the wind for the first time. Would she survive, if she went out into that? She was arguably worse off now than when she'd reached the edge of the city. She had warmed up, and that instilled weakness. She would feel the cold easier, and she had less clothing, no shoes.

She'd lost most of her protective layers, the rain would go right through her, but what other options did she have? She didn't know who lived here or what their temperaments were like, what they would expect of her, what they would ask her to do.

She bit her lip so hard that when she forced herself to relax a moment later, she could feel the imprint of her teeth indented into the back of her lip.

Why did there have to be people here? It would have been so much simpler if the cottage had been empty. That was where she was, right? She could have crawled in and warmed up by the stove, eaten the sweets, and made the place her own. It would have been as simple as that. Easy.

But nothing was ever easy, she knew that by now, but it was a lesson she never quite finished learning.

She looked around the room again one last time. She didn't recognise this room from her brief look around the cottage. There had been a sitting room, but it was a closed place filled with dust and damp. This was warm and cosy, homely and dry.

Maybe she was elsewhere.

"Did I die in the forest, and you took me here?" she whispered to the air. "Like I died in the cellar?"

She pursed her lips, and then opened the door to the outside.

-

From across the room, Shim watched as their small guest got up, staggered about for a moment, and then attempted to leave via the broom cupboard.

This was gonna be a long night.