Every bump wakes Petra from her stupor. Within just a few minutes Petra has the need to throw up. Apparently, the small amount of time she was with… who were they, was not enough to fix what was full blown pneumonia. The warmth that had entered her bones in the house and now surrounded her in the car seemed cold again. Petra's empty stomach rolls within the hour as the van makes its endless way along the road.

A jerking stops sends her to her knees, one hand against the side of the van for balance. "Damn!" she swears. The floor sends chills racing up her legs to tighten the knot of her stomach. The van makes no move to continue, so Petra carefully picks herself up. The van is not quite tall enough for her to stand up completely, leaving her with a bend head as her hair falls across her face.

The small window that has separated her from the driver opens and a blanket is dumped without a sound. "Thanks for the lift." Petra gathers up the blanket and throws it around herself then opens the door. The wind chills her though the blanket instantly as she struggles against it to close the door. The moment she has the van screams to life as it kicks up snow into Petra's face. It does not take long for the van to disappear into the white haze of blowing snow. As the snow settles she sees light and makes her way towards it, one slow step at a time.

The blanket is large enough to be held over her head and Petra makes the adjustment. Now the small warmth of her breath is captured and blown back into her face rather than be captured by the demon winds. The lights grow nearer as Petra walks along what seems to be just slightly smaller snow drifts than the ones around her. The nearest building has a name hanging off of it, "Saint-Petersburg International Hostel". It takes Petra's mind a moment to process it.

Petra pushes open the door, curious. She had heard of Hostel's once- in a study in Battle School that had touched on migration patterns. Never had it occurred to her that they might still exist.

The Hostel was warm, warmer than outside was. It was decorated in an early twenty first century style with bright red accent rugs that had shown their better days very long ago. A fire burned at one side of the small entry room. A woman sat at a desk typing away. She does not seem to have noticed that someone had entered the building. Petra takes off the blanket and shakes the snow off. It melts when separated from its friends. Folding the blanket over her arm Petra takes a deep breath.

"Well come on girl, get over here." The abrupt welcome startles the girl and she makes no move forward. "I am old and my feet are tired, I will not be walking towards you. Do you want a room for the night or not?" The woman does not seem hostile at all, simply careworn. Petra approaches cautiously, her mind looking for a weapon just in case. A small stream of adrenalin masks the effects of her sickness momentarily. "Now, a dormitory room is 605 rubles a night, but if you're willing to do a little work, we might be able to lower the cost a bit. You might find something cheaper out near the corners of town, but I doubt you would make it. The police seem mighty active in getting stray children off the street in the winter these days."

Petra reaches for her pocket, her mind working furiously. When, as she expected the pocket turns up empty she turns them out for the woman to see. "I have no money. I was caught outside in the last storm and managed to get sick. A family took me in for a while, but times are rough. I don't want to inconvenient you, but do you know where I might stay where I will not freeze completely?" There is a certain amount of pathetic wretch that Petra allows to slip into her voice. She cannot help speaking as if she is cultured, her sickness seems to be preventing too much clear thought.

The woman looks Petra up and down for a moment. "You can stay for the next few days, there is a train leaving Russia then. You'll have to work for your board and I've little I can feed you. This way." The woman heaves herself down from the chair visibly wincing as her feet hit the ground. Petra notices they are wrapped in thick wool which ought to keep the pain to a minimum. A small portion of her mind registers amazement that the woman would even attempt walking. Following her Petra take the chance to look around. It seems empty, but for a single person at a pay-per-use desk.

"You can sleep here." The woman opens the door to a room with at least forty beds in two straight rows. For a moment, Petra has a flashback of battle school- but no, these single not double bunked beds. "You will be sweeping first. Then mopping. I expect it should take you till very late to sweep.. Turn the light off when you are done. The supplies you need are in the first door on your right, dark wooden one. I will see you tomorrow." The old woman turns and totters away back to her chair and desk.

Petra almost asks about dinner, but decides against it. If the woman was going to let her stay without asking even her name there was no reason to ask for more. Petra lays her blanket on what seems to be an empty bed to dry then goes to find the broom and cleaning materials.

Sweeping was long a meticulous. All of the floors seem to be made of imitation wood without a hint of real carpet outside of the worn rugs. Under the rugs seemed to be a mountain of dirt. Petra rolled each of them up to sweep under them, long after the woman and other resident had found their beds. The mounds of dirt were thrown out of a small back window to create a pile of brown snow.

Petra's back popped after the last bit of dirt was banished from the building. Three days of this? Perhaps I have become very, very soft.The bed provided felt to Petra like a piece of wood but it did not stop her from being asleep from the moment she draped her blanket over her.

The next few days saw Petra mopping, dusting, folding, and cleaning out the fire places. The woman provided breakfast and a small piece of bread every night after the first. It was less than Petra had ever eaten in her life, but enough to keep her going. The woman said little more to her than to point out new chores and where refuse could be disposed of. A few customers came, stayed and left. One night a third of the beds were full. Another, only the one which Petra slept in.

The third day dawned clear and cold. The wind died down for the first time since Petra has stepped outside of Achilles' compound. The train should arrive today. Beside the door was a small packet with the word 'girl' pinned to the top, the woman was no where to be seen. The packet contained very little. First was a clipping from a magazine- the headline about lost battle school children. Petra recognized her face on the small picture. Next were the items to dye hair, and a pair of scissors. Third was a very old passport of a young blond woman. Last of all was a two-way ticket from Saint Petersburg to Yerevan. "Thank you." Petra turns to look at the desk where the woman had sat for all of Petra's stay. She was not there. Opening the door Petra slips out, holding her small bundle tightly.

The noise of the train leads her to the station easily. Once there she slips into the bathroom, cutting her hair short, then applying the dye. She saves a little and after finishing her hair applies it to her eyebrows and lashes. It stings like salt in an open wound, but she holds on till both are as bold a gold as her hair.

At the ticket counter the woman takes the ticket and passport glances at both then directs her to the correct train. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. Once on the train Petra sits in the seat she is directed to, and pulls her blanket up to her neck. The train would leave in just a few minutes and she would almost be free. A day still in Russia. Then a day to Yerevan. Once there… Petra stops her thinking. She just needed to get there. Time was on her side for now.