Krenburg Castle on its hill rose first above the fog, and soon the town below and the city wall emerged through the low-hanging rain clouds and the rising ground fog. I made a quick dash for the gate. I wanted a quick passage, even if it meant paying the fee for a mount (which at least embarrassed the guard into apologising several times to said mount), while Freya asked for directions to the castle.

We wished him a good day, which sounded like mocking him as he stood as close to the wall as possible under a small bay window that offered little protection from the wind or rain.

It was probably late afternoon, but there was no way of telling: The cloudscape had not changed throughout the day. The city was gloomy, the streets empty and no lights in the windows. Only a few people hurried past us in leather capes, and one even carried an ancient relative to an umbrella. And I discovered one good thing about the rain: The smell was only a faint echo of what the other settlements had been giving off: The rain had washed the streets clean of any night soil or rubbish. Not that I needed to worry: my legs were soaked up to my underbelly anyway. Without care to the ground, I hurried on, jumping around the cascades from the gutters and gargoyles, driven by the promise of a warm, dry room.

Although the windows were dark and the street deserted, there was life in the houses. People were singing and arguing, children were laughing, and babies were crying. The human sounds seemed strange in the dark, empty streets, like echoes of ghosts.

And then there was the final climb to Krenburg Castle, which overlooked the city from its hill at the far end of town, a castle hill, not very high, but with very steep slopes. The road wound around the hill and after the first quarter turn, there were no houses on the left, just a low wall and a steep drop. I had no motivation to try the uneven narrow stairs that branched off and might have been more direct. So we looped around the castle hill almost once before the road flattened out to a small square in front of the drawbridge.

* * *

Drawbridge sounded very impressive, but the entrance to the castle was underwhelming. Said drawbridge was down and had probably been down for half a century, judging by the rust on the chains. The small square in front of it was as deserted as the town below. Not even a watchman. Unchallenged, we walked across the drawbridge to the closed gate in the gate tower. I rattled the gate, pounded on the door with my fists and shouted. Freya shrank on my back in embarrassment.

But it worked. About a minute later, a small door on the left wing opened.

"Welcome to Krenburg Castle. Do you have an erbrfkj letter?"

"Many," I said before Freya pushed me aside. Anyway, we had the guard's attention.

"Good afternoon. We come from General Knoll, straight from the battlefields of Kerwnough. I am Healer Apprentice Freya and this is Kiara."

"Nice to meet you. Please come in."

We followed the guard into a smaller side room, its door facing the passageway under the gate tower. There was a small fire in the fireplace, but more smoke than flame. Two guards in briefs were also there, and a third was lying in one of the bunk beds against the wall. This was certainly not a regular reception area. They were all scrambling for some official clothing. I politely ignored them and instead unbuckled the saddlebag, set it on the floor, and carefully took out the pack of letters, wrapped twice in thin leather. Fortunately, the inner wrapping was still dry. "Here is letters. All from general," I said proudly, quite sure of these simple sentences. But when I looked at Freya, I had messed up the grammar again.

"Thank you, uh, Kiara," said the guard who had opened the door. He took the pack of letters but did not open it. "Runs and Fert, please take them to the sdfsdgergerg and then bring the letters to the sdjggbhjkl." Which reminded me of the crucial missing vocabulary (and even knowledge) of palace ranks.

The two men now had their uniform jackets on and nodded as they still fought with their trousers and shoes. They were ready in no time thanks for their military drill.

* * *

It turned out that the first stop was the stables. I was not happy, firstly on principle and secondly because of the smell. "Please, look at yourself! You need a professional! I will come down later," Freya pleaded.

I sighed. And knocked on the stable door before entering.

The equerry was young and I was worried about how professional he would be. But my initial reservations about a stable soon melted away with the welcome I received. From the start, he treated me like royalty. As soon as he saw us, he rushed over and bowed. Bowed only to me. "Welcome to the stables. I am equerry Kendrick."

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"Good evening, Kendrick. I am Kiara."

"Lady Kiara, I am so sorry for not sfsdfh guests. Please, give me a moment to get you some warm water."

Freya laughed. "Don't spoil her too much!" which earned her an angry look from me. She smiled, "OK, I can see he will take good care of you. I will go and bathe too. See you later."

"See you." But my thoughts were with the equerry who had sent the only groom out. Then he took a towel, a real towel, and handed it to me.

"Would you like to dry your hair yourself, milady?"

I was at a loss for words and just took the towel. It was not just any rag, it was indeed a clean and dry towel, not fluffy, but still my first encounter with a towel in this world. The stables at Krenburg Castle had immediately become a much nicer place, even though I was neither a horse nor a mount. Cleaning my face and then drying my hair felt so good. Meanwhile, he hung the saddlebag upside down over a long wall peg so that both sides would drip dry. Next to it were its only contents: my knife and my purse. My only possessions in this world, rivalling the late Gandhi, though not by choice.

Then the groom returned with a large steaming kettle and left again to fetch four buckets of water.

"When Milady is ready, we can give her a warm rain."

"Rain?" I was even more confused.

"Or does Milady want to wash herself?"

"No, no. The rain, please."

"Ah, er, your shirt, please." He blushed.

I hesitated for a moment, out of habit. To be honest, I was glad to get out of the cold and wet shirt. And it was nice to know that I could still make a man blush at the thought of what my shirt might be hiding. Which was nothing, since it was clinging wet to my skin. So off it went.

The groom had poured a quarter of the water from the kettle into a bucket and handed it to the equerry, who was standing on a small ladder. He poured it over me very slowly. It was lukewarm, but it was running water! A shower! I scrubbed my hair to remove all the needles and twigs. Seeing this, he handed me a huge comb and prepared the second bucket. It was all over too quickly. I was handed the now slightly wet towel from before.

Now clean and dry, at least on my upper human half, my spirits were high. I simply wrapped the towel around my breasts to reduce the embarrassment of the equerry and groom.

The third and fourth buckets were used to remove mud and dirt by splashing my lower furry half from many different angles. Then the groom had to go and refill them. No longer with warm water, unfortunately. They now began to use rags to wash out all the mud and dirt, interspersed with brushing to remove the needles and whatever else was stuck in my fur. The buckets used to wash out the rags quickly became stained and had to be replaced several times. They worked slowly from my mid-shoulder back down to my underbelly and then down my legs. Whenever an area was deemed clean enough, it was rubbed dry with another towel, a less fancy one with a few holes and stains, which hung in front of a smouldering log on the otherwise cold forge, next to my shirt.

I was soon standing in a dirty puddle, but I felt human again. Or I should rather say civilised, in my case. Even so, the work was not yet done.

"Milady has very fine hair," he complimented.

I blushed. "Thank you."

"If I ask Milady, what are you?"

Of course, it was inevitable. But over the past few days, I had practised my explanation, albeit mostly in front of children. "I makinged like centaur. But I coming other world. Here since nine day. No good speaking."

"Milady is well."

I was beginning to get a little irritated at being addressed as a noble. I wondered if I should ask for normal treatment. But then, apart from the lack of words, perhaps it was his way of keeping his professional distance. "You meeting centaur?"

He stopped. "Yes, we have one as a guest." He gestured to the large door, currently closed. That was where the horses were if I trusted my sense of smell. Not that trust was necessary, even a human nose would tell that.

The brushing took its time: There was a lot of stuff in my fur after all the squirrelling out and the rest under the fir had not helped. It felt like half a tree's worth of needles were stuck in my fur. After a while I began to purr, blushing and silently cursing my body. The equerry and groom were worried, but I laughed it off. "Like cat." Still, they were visibly uncomfortable with my vibrating lower body.

Eventually, they started brushing my legs and my purring stopped, leaving a strange muscle slightly tired and a mild euphoria fading. Soon they were down to my pastern, or should I say the wrist of my paws, as there was none of the long fur of some of a pack horses. My fur was longer higher up on my legs.

He lifted my left forepaw and placed it in a clean bucket. "Your dsfsdf are very different, Milady."

"Yes," I smiled, lifting the paw from the bucket, turning it around and extending the claws. "But not worrying." Then I grabbed the string of the bucket and lifted it. "I like good."

He nodded and then gently took my dirty, dripping paw and placed it on his knee. Ok, he was wearing leather trousers. "Milady, please sdfsdfbg your claws again."

I very carefully extracted my claws again, wondering what he was going to do. He was actually doing a sort of pedicure on the claws. He even had a small brush, like a brush, which he used to brush the claws and the hoof-like plate on the flat area of the paws. It tickled as he gently pulled the claws apart to get all the dirt out, especially in the claw sheaths and deep between the toes. Really, he was the first to touch my claws with his hands. Not even Freya had touched them, she treated them more like feet.

"Milady's paws are very soft and dsdsgtdg."

I smiled, childishly proud and wanting to impress him even more. Even though I had nothing to do with the design.

Finally, there was the tail, which now looked more like a kangaroo's tail with the wet fur plastered on. Quite a finish, especially as its fur was longer. Nevertheless, the equerry and the groom did their best, trying not to pull the fur too much. With each stroke, the poor wet sausage became fluffier.