Andrew began her long walk toward the little village. She was out of the mountains proper, but there were still a number of foothills in between her and her destination, and the more she walked the more tired she was of the whole thing. Now she began to understand why women wore brassieres; the bouncing and bumping of her unrestrained breasts was beginning to take its toll on her back, as well as being obnoxiously distracting. She'd have to try and get a bra in the village - or had they even been invented yet in this world? Much less painful, but more annoying, was the fact that her clutching her little pouch of money in her teeth was causing her to salivate uncontrollably; but there was no reason the people of this world wouldn't have some kind of shoulder-bag she could carry her things in.
And on top of it all, she was hungry. She hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday; depending on how long she'd been out, that was a good seven-plus hours ago. But as inexperienced as she was in her new body, there was no way she'd be able to catch anything out here, so she'd just have to hold out until she got to the village. Besides, she didn't really like the idea of eating raw meat, anyway. So she walked on. As she walked, Andrew examined her wings, trying to get a better idea of how they were structured. As it turned out, they were built a lot like human arms, with shoulder, elbow, and wrist joints in about the same places relative to her wings' greater length. However, the bone structure ended a little past the wrist, with no fingers or anything, which explained why she couldn't manipulate them very much. She'd have to do things like writing and other fine motor skills with her talons now, but fortunately those were proving to be a lot more useful for such purposes than human feet. The whole thing was going to be incredibly awkward, but like it or not, this was what she was stuck with for now. Shrugging, she continued on, down one hill and up the next.
It was nearly noon by the time Andrew arrived at the village. Or rather, the sun was almost in the twelve o'clock position; Andrew had no idea how long the solar day here was compared to Earth's. Feeling incredibly grateful to have that long walk over with, she marched right on into town.
Nobody came rushing up to put her to death; that was a good sign. In fact, the whole place was pretty cheerfully serene. She did, however, overhear a little girl talking excitedly to her mother. "Maman!" the girl whispered. "There's a bird over there that's a lady, an' she gots no clothes on!" Andrew suppressed a smirk as she heard the mother shush her child, and she could see the woman out of the corner of her eye, trying not to stare herself. Guess I'm really as unusual as I look, she thought. Still, at least nobody was trying to arrest her for indecent exposure.
She continued down what passed for the main thoroughfare, a well-worn dirt path that led to a well, around which were built the largest of the buildings in the village. There was what looked to be a church and a few other buildings with pictorial signs indicating what they sold. Andrew looked around until she spotted one with the sign of a mug, then went in. Sure enough, it was a pub. She walked in and hopped up onto one of the stools at the counter, too tired and hungry to care that the barman was getting an eyeful of her breasts.
The barman, for his part, took it in stride and tactfully looked her directly in the face. "We don't see many of you folks down from the mountains," he said, amiably. "Not since almost as long as I can remember. What are you here for, if you don't mind my askin'?"
Andrew groaned. "I'm hungry," she said, letting her money pouch drop on the counter. "I want to eat before I talk." She hadn't intended to come off so gruff, but she really was starving, and didn't feel like making small talk when her stomach was screaming for food. The barman nodded. "Yes, Miss," he said. "That's four simoleans," he continued, motioning to some dead animal roasting on a spit in the fireplace, "and two for an ale."
Andrew opened up her little bag and counted out two copper pieces. She hesitated before adding a third, but after all, there wasn't likely to be an age limit for alcohol around here, and it was probably safer than the water. She walked over to the fireplace, tore a leg off the roasting carcass, and carefully hop-carried it back to the counter, keeping the meat itself off the dusty wooden floor. With a leg of...something (it was mutton, but she didn't recognize the taste) and a cool ale, she set about filling her stomach; all her other problems could wait.