It was not the cold that bothered Istas. She was Waheela, and the cold could never kill her. The sudden and unexplained transportation of her to another place, however, did.

"This is not my house!" Istas growled, pausing in her mauling of the door to stare, unblinking, at the woman who was most inappropriately dressed. Pajamas where not for wearing in public. "This is not my city!"