It was so easy: he just had to follow the narrow corridor, and, as the dwarf had said, it was there, the portal of ancient stones, and beyond, the warm glow of the vast chimney.
He stopped and looked down at the medieval floor, polished over millennia by the feet of so many pilgrims. Behind him he would be leaving his own time, the overflowing world, the menacing floods. In front of him, he knew was the vast kitchen, the monks in black robes, the penitents. He too would be on his way to the holy city, and they would recognise him for who he was, another brave and tired worshipper from the west, from the cold.
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