It was sometime between Sext and Vespers, judging by the arch of the sun across the sky. Assuming this part of the world even aligned properly and he wasn't on some axis that turned it all around. Valen looked up at the sun with a grimace that faded into a slight smile as he reveled in the warmth that settled into his bones. It was a beautiful day, but he was in no way certain where the hell he was. He hadn't arrived here by his own doing, but by Samele's grace he wanted to go back. Not because he had any particular attachments to Gillarine Abbey, but because he missed the damned warmth of the bed and the lovely food they'd let him shovel down his gullet.
"Damn you, Boreas," he swore to himself and glared around the unfamiliar settings. Abandoned on the verge of death, the Monks of Gillarine had taken Valen in, which Iero bless them, was a gift in and of itself but standing stranded now in a city without rhyme or reason Valen couldn't help but curse his former friend turned traitor for leaving him thus. Not that Valen would have done differently if their situations had been reversed. He had no possessions of his own, except the thin nightgown he wore, while his most precious items and the book of Cartamandua Maps were left behind. He swore silently and trudged onward with bare feet, a limp in each step that only pained the wound in his thigh all the more. He could ignore the ache though, he was on his feet and that mattered. Forget the bruises, the sores, and the jarring wound in his shoulder too. He was alive, there were no soldiers and for now that was enough.
But first thing first - priorities straight, he needed clothes, to find a hawker and see about getting passage away from the city. And possibly discover what in the Adversary's name those metal things were about. In fact, he'd see about the city proper if anyone had answers to give. He'd never laid eyes upon half the city's doings, and that was strange.
"Ho there," he called to a boy of an indeterminate age. Well of an age young enough to be called boy, though he was dressed fairly queerly.. though he was dressed at all, compared to Valen's half downed nightgown and naught else. "Could you direct me a tailor," he half demanded, "that gatze whore took my purse and my clothes. Can you believe it?"