You wake up groggily, yawning and stretching your arms. You keep your eyes closed. Hopefully this was just a weird dream. You slowly open your eyes and a wave of dread passed through you. It wasn't. You gaze around the room. The fireplace was still lit, but the fire itself had died down. Light was pouring through the windows, illuminating the entire room.
Ozzy was still at the table, with the book in hand. He had passed out reading it apparently. You couldn't help but feel a little sympathetic for him. You take the book out from under his head and replace it with one of the throw pillows from the chair, careful not to close the book so the position wasn't lost.
You wander around the house for a bit, exploring it for all it's worth. Admittedly, it wasn't much. It was a single room with defined sections for certain things. The kitchen in one corner, the study in another, the bed placed along the back wall with shelves one either side. The bed was in and of itself an anomaly. Meant for sleeping, but from the look of things it hasn't been used for a long time.
You wander over to the kitchen where you hope to find something to snack on, but a quick glance at the counter yielded a 'no'. Lined up were 15 jars of various unrecognizable blobs, a bowl of flowers, a small wooden box filled with various fungi, and a cabinet stocked with unused wooden dinning ware.
Hearing a yawn from behind you, knew right away Ozzy was awake. You turn around in time to see him confused about the pillow.
"Oh look, the kidnapper is awake." you joked.
To which he sleepily retorts, "You appear to enjoy puns."
"Yeah, I enjoy puns. Takes the focus awkward or stressful situations. You know, like a kidnapping." you quip. He shakes his head and groans. Rising from the chair, he stumbled over to kitchen. He pulled his wand from his pocket and muttered a few words you couldn't understand. In a flash he had a mug in his hand filled with what you would assume is his equivalent to coffee. You could tell he regularly did this because you didn't feel any tug of energy.
You two stood in silence for a bit as he took occasional sips from his mug, in between rubbing his eye and yawning.
"So... Ozzy. Care to talk about yesterday?" you questioned.
"No." he stated, all to sternly. "How long have you been up?"
"Not too long. Woke up a bit ago and wandered around in circles for a bit. Not much to do when your entire house is the size of a broom closet."
"In what world would a broom be so privileged as to get it's own closet?" he scoffed, confused. You hadn't given it much thought originally, but you realized that this place may just very well be nothing like your home. You only thought you were crazy before, but now? You finally knew you really were. After all, this can't be real. Can it?
"Thinking before you reply?" Ozzy interrupted.
"I'm thinking of my home, and how different it is to this place." you sigh.
"Fear not, familiar. Your time to adjust is a given." he guaranteed.
"I suppose that mean I'm never going home then." you pointed out, the feeling of sadness closing in on you. But you keep your composure. He says you're powerful, at least look it.
Ozzy stares off into space, as if looking for something invisible. "You are upset that you will not return to your loved ones."
This confused you greatly, "How did you know that? Did I not keep my composure as well as I thought I did?"
"No, no." He replied, "You composure was excellent. One can simply peer into the mind of his familiar."
"Okay, that's rather creepy." you quickly interjected. "I'd appreciate it if you DIDN'T do that."
"Cannot be helped," he said. "But nevertheless, there is training to be done. Come."
You wanted to stay there and silently weep forever, but you got up and followed him outside anyways. Perhaps what he had planned would help. You walk outside just in time to see Ozzy create three different training spots, each one for a different task.
You could feel the energy leave you this time. Clearly this was a task he didn't regularly do. At least, not with magic.
The left was created for endurance training, the middle for brute strength, and the right for weapons practice.