I am apparently about ten miles from the town of Heucia and for half of the journey there is not going to be anything beyond literal goat trails across hilly scrubland. Two hours should get me to the first village though and from then on my progress will be graced by tracks of stamped earth and cartwheel ruts, probably passable enough given the weather is dry and ground firm. Either way I am glad of the fact I now have footwear. Leather sandals, too small but hastily adjusted for my oversized feet, purchased along with a leather water flask and a thick woollen blanket. Even combined with a hearty cooked meal, sausages and strips of dried meat that I purchased I get the impression that the shepherds got the better of the deal given I left them with two thick silver rings.

If silver is worth as much as it was historically... I do not know how much a ring weighs. A fiftieth of a pound? I suspect I gave them precious metal worth a few weeks of income. I would have liked clothing but the combination of my size and the wings made that impossible, though I did establish that I am indeed freakishly tall. Aspasia's father and older brother were both tall men as far as I could tell, I must be around seven foot in height? I would probably be hitting my head into door frames even back home.

Conversation with the family was rather limited though given their obvious terror of me. An amazonian giantess in ill fitting but rich attire, armed with steel, winged. Aspasia might have been shocked into conversation but it was clear that her parents wanted absolutely nothing to do with whatever I represented as soon as they learned I was not descended from on high to bless them or arrived to smite some monster. So what did I manage to glean?

She has another brother, an adult, who left to fight in a distant war for their king. They are worried about monsters. Trolls? I did not want to betray my ignorance by asking more. Either way I appear to be in some kind of Lord of the Rings type affair with Greek flavoured names and I guess late medieval technology from the gear of the armoured soldiers whom I incinerated last night. Also I am here because some gaggle of rich... Wizards, cultists? I do not know, fucked up a ritual to summon and bind an angel. Angels being a thing albeit one that shepherds find rare to the point of disbelief and understandably terrifying.

I chew on a sausage as I stride along, even though I have not slept and was jogging half the night and am operating without sleep I make better time than expected and I mentally revise just how far I made it when fleeing. I might miss my family, my colleagues, definitely my cats, but would I want to go back to not being this inhumanly fit? The only time I felt even nearly this good was when I was in my late teens and got back from a field exercise. Weeks of rigorous physical activity on little sleep and carrying forty pounds or more of gear only to get a full night of sleep and walk unencumbered the next day, that made me feel as if I was weightless.

Now I feel like that all of the time, as if a spring of my feet could launch me into the sky. Given I am clearly not natural and have a twenty foot wingspan? Maybe it could. Not that I risk it. Instead I move through the scrub pastureland, I depart the realm of sheep and enter somewhere more civilised. I am reminded just why I really do need to try to find a return to my original body and to Earth as I am greeted with the sight of some medieval village.

Rather dry fields are picked over by tanned, thin, extremely tough looking men and women in worn clothing. The village itself is surrounded by a twenty foot wall of rammed earth and logs and upon a hill, a switchback trail proceeding up past a little fort of sorts with a stone ground floor positioned to be behind anyone approaching the gate. I am an obvious target of interest as I walk along but it is not until somebody presumably notices my wings that a cry is raised.

I do my best to continue past the village and the farmers seem loath to dare approach me, but within fifteen minutes or so a group close on horseback. A middle aged woman with a scarred face is leading, her hair greying, her horse larger than the others. She is wearing what I think is a brigandine? Scuffed bottle green velvet across her torso with a pattern of brass rivets and the rigidity that suggests plating beneath, a long bladed sword at her side that I feel some manner of pressure and menace from. Fine wool, heavy embroidery and jewelled rings suggest more than a little prosperity. Two men and a young woman follow behind with spears, shorter swords and in one of the men's case a steel pronged crossbow.

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The crossbow is spanned and loaded, I turn to face them as I start to drop my hand toward the shorter sword at my own side. I tense, something tugs in the back of my head and I know that I can do -something- which will herald extreme violence. I refrain. Instead I raise my right hand away from my weapon and call out. “Greetings! I am simply passing through, please do not concern yourselves.”

The woman leading the group urges her horse forward, the two with spears fan out to each flank whilst the man with the crossbow keeps it not quite aimed at me. All of them give the impression that they are absolutely at home in the saddle and those weapons are held with nervous competence, they are terrified of me but seem grimly resolved. I try to smile and keep my wings furled in tight despite an instinctive urge to flare the feathery limbs out, perhaps to brace against the air? I try not to move very much. The lead woman, a knight? She replies.

“Greetings. I would normally expect to drop to my knees in thanks when visited by a divine messenger, the first to ever grace our village. Then beg to be gifted with whatever order or instruction you might issue. But you do not seem to have the expected aspect. Walking in the dirt, wearing what is obviously not holy raiment. What are you?”

Time for honesty. “I am Alessandra. I was summoned here through means I can only describe as foul and know literally nothing of this world. Those who summoned and attempted to bind me paid with their lives but I do not claim any divine mission or message. I am travelling to Heucia so that I can speak with the Count and the temple.” I still have no idea what kind of pantheon these people worship though I have picked up that they regard multiple gods. I guess more than one god has servants who look like stereotypical angels?

She considers me intently, dark brows lowering, a gloved hand tight upon the reins of her horse, the other hovering not far from the wire wrapped grip of her longsword. How much danger am I actually in? If I can still do the... Fire thing, then I can no doubt kill them all but the crossbow has me worried and these four seem distinctly more dangerous than the wizards or whoever it was I cut down when I first arrived. Also I am wearing one of their robes, is that some kind of livery of a noble family I should be worried about? I am certainly conscious of the fact it is leaving my legs mostly bare as I am peered at by a posse of mounted types. I try to place them.

The older scar faced woman is I can only assume a knight. Maybe she has more armour somewhere to look the traditional part? But did not have time to put it on before riding out to confront a random angelic amazonian roaming past her village. The man with the crossbow is probably in his late thirties and I immediately peg him as a sergeant, he looks tough as old leather and holds the weapon with complete assurance as he sits astride his horse. The other woman is built like an athlete, probably mid twenties? Blonde, blue eyed and not at all pretty. She has that light lance or spear held competently though and is obviously some kind of professional, her clothing of lesser quality than that of the 'sergeant' but obviously still expensive.

The last is a young man in his late teens who is dressed almost as finely as the knight and eerily at home on his horse. I am pretty sure he is her son from the resemblance, he would probably be holding his spear in a similarly menacing manner but is staring at my legs. Lovely.

The knight retorts, tense and still very much on edge. “I had hoped you were descended to help deal with our problems but if that is not the case then I was going to suggest that we escort you to the count. I... Do not believe we have a horse or tack suited to your size though?” She seems apologetic at the latter but I seize on the first part.

“I have not been sent here and cannot claim any kind of divine mission but I am not opposed to helping if you have problems? Assuming that I can assist. I can assure you I am profoundly ignorant on most subjects pertaining to this world.” Though that does get my mind working. I am a civil engineer, the Romans could make concrete, perhaps I am not useless here? They might need a new well.

She seems to not feel the need to hover her hand near the hilt of that sword now and raises a gloved hand to motion westward, expression sour. “There is a nest of trolls who have been ravaging crops and trying to eat people caught out after the fall of night. With half my retinue called off to the war I have been reluctant to try to root them out. Frankly if we tried then somebody is going to die and I was hoping the count would send troops. Then I was sent word of a gigantic winged woman with a sword and hoped that you were in answer to my prayers.” Then she hastily adds. “Not that I ever presumed to be worthy of direct divine aid.”

So what the fuck is a troll and do I want to try fighting them? Especially given this obviously formidable woman appears deeply reluctant to try facing them with a group of mounted professional soldiers whom I can only assume wear a lot more armour if deliberately going out to fight monsters.

I remember the light and the fire. I consider that one of this woman's 'soldiers' is obviously her own son. Of course I am going to help. Though I am going to have to remember to ask for people's names first.