My departure was slated for an afternoon in early May in the Year of Our Lord 1852. The weather was cold and wet, and a heavy fog covered the land like a particularly depressing blanket, making it impossible to see much further than twenty yards in any direction. Had I been a more superstitious woman, I would have called it a poor sign for my coming travels. However, seeing as I am, in most my dealings, a person of a rather practical bent, I was mostly concerned about how the relentless fog would affect the navigation of my ship. Once I had gone over my effects to make sure all was packed properly, I got into my fathers old carriage. It hadn’t seen much use for quite some time, as my father rarely used it, citing distaste for the “cumbersome old thing” and much preferring smaller, more lightweight cabs when he had to go anywhere. The trip was uneventful and dreadfully dull, and I could do little more than stare blankly into the heavy fog until the carriage finally pulled into Pepperport (a small town that had grown up around the harbour the company had established there). Thankful for the chance to stretch my legs, I got out of the carriage and promptly got myself completely lost. Now, just so you don’t take me for a buffoon as you read this, I should note that I know the twisty streets of Pepperport relatively well (as it was one of the very few places my father allowed me to visit more than once). No, the reason for my lack of direction was the heavy fog that curled around the rickety shacks and houses, obscuring landmarks and giving the whole town an alien, almost otherworldly appearance. Such was my discombobulation that I failed to pay proper attention to where I was going, and so I rather carelessly stepped around a corner and right into a young woman wearing a grey cloak and hood. The impact, while not that severe, was enough to send us both staggering backwards, which in her case led to her tripping over an empty crate and landing heavily on the muddy street. Being raised as a proper gentleman, I of course rushed forward to help her up. “I apologize most sincerely, my lady!” I exclaimed as I reached down to help her up. “I’m afraid I wasn’t paying nearly enough attention to where I was going. I do hope you can forgive me.” “Oh, it’s no problem.” She replied as she took my hand. Her voice was soft and clear, but I was unable to properly place her accent, which sounded vaguely middle European, with perhaps a bit of Scandinavian and just a hint of Gaelic thrown in for good measure. “I was paying little attention myself.” As I got a closer look of her face, I will admit I felt a small flutter of jealousy. Her features had a strongly defined, almost chiselled look, and her pale complexion was as perfect as smooth stone, with not a single spot or imperfection to be found. Blonde tresses framed her face, and her eyes were the most intense blue I had ever seen on any living thing. Of course, I quickly quashed that flutter of jealousy, as it was an entirely ungentlemanly thought in more ways than one. “Nonsense, madam. The fault is all mine. And I got your lovely cloak dirty, too. Is there anything I can do to repay you for the damage I’ve caused?” “Well, as it happens, I find myself somewhat lost. Perhaps you could guide me?” I chuckled wryly. “My good lady, if I could find my way in this mess of fog, I would not be here in the first place. I’m afraid I am just as lost as you are, if not more so.” “Then I suppose we shall simply have to be lost together.” “Certainly. Perhaps one of us will find a way out of this labyrinth we’ve wandered into.” I extended my arm, which she took with a small smile, and together we set off into the grey murk. For the next few minutes, we wandered the streets in relative silence, trying without much luck to find our way to the docks. As we walked, a light drizzle started, and yet the fog refused to clear up even slightly. As such, we were both in low spirits, and were perhaps not paying quite as much attention as we should have. As such, we did not realize we had wandered right through the gates of a high-fenced yard until we were beset by a rather angry guard dog. The creature was a mangy, brownish thing, clearly a mongrel, looking to my eye like the unfortunate offspring of a terrier and a wolfhound. With a snarl it leapt at me, drool spilling from its open mouth, and its powerful jaws closed like a distressingly tight vice around the arm I’d raised in defence. Now, the virtues of the jackets I usually wear can not be overstated. Not only do they serve to conceal my body shape, but they are also subtly stylish, at home in any but the most formal of occasions. At the time, though, the most favourable quality was the sheer thickness of the layered fabric. While somewhat limiting in terms of motion, the half-inch of woven wool could stop a knife, and it certainly stopped the teeth of the angry dog. It still clung to me like a particularly heavy, not to mention violently shaking, limpet, but save for some bruising it did me no harm. I shook my arm as much as the weight of the hound would allow, but it still clung stubbornly to my sleeve, growling all the while. Finally, in desperation, I manoeuvred my other arm from its sleeve and unbuttoned my jacket. Bunching the fabric up around my now free hand, I used it to push the frightful beasts head away, and finally managed to slip it off my arm along with the jacket. Feeling none to keen to see how the dog reacted to this new development, I took my lady companion’s hand and ran like the very forces of hell were after me. A prudent decision, it soon proved, as the hound soon came running after us, barking and growling like mad all the way. We ran like the blazes through the foggy streets, the dog chasing us with a persistence that I found quite unsuitable for a guard dog, but thankfully its proportionately stubby legs were just enough of an impediment to keep it from catching us. In such a panic were we that we ran straight out of town and into the nearby woods, not even noticing when the creature finally gave up the chase. In fact, we only stopped when my companion tripped over an exposed root, falling to the ground for the second time that day. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath and calm my frantically beating heart, noting with more than a little relief that the detestable canine had finally let us be. With a relieved sigh I reached down and, perhaps with a little more force than intended, pulled my companion to her feet, causing her hood to fall back in the process. I could only stand and stare as, denied the protection of the shade provided by the overhanging hood, her eyes were hit with all the light this foggy day had to offer, and her pupils didn’t merely contract like a normal person’s would, but instead formed into slits like those of a cat. The removal of the hood also revealed her ears, which I noted with much surprise were long and pointed. “Madam…” I said, my voice slack with shock. “It would appear that you are an elf.” Rather than responding immediately, she instead looked down to my chest, and it was then I realized my small yet not entirely flat bosom was now only concealed by a rather thin shirt. As this thought ran through my head, or at least the parts of it that weren’t still stunned in shock, she replied with a certain amount of humour in her voice. “And it would appear that you are a woman.”