The first thing Ragnar noticed when he fully woke was the bed beneath him. It was a midsized frame, sturdy but narrow, just barely wide enough to accommodate his large form without forcing him to hang over the edges.
The next thing he became aware of was the unfamiliar room he was in. It was bare, holding little more than the bed he lay on and a small wooden bedside table. No decorations adorned the walls. And, most notably, he was alone.
A small fire crackled in a stone hearth across the room, its soft glow pushing back the chill that lingered in the air.
His eyes felt dry and gritty. When he tried to move, he found it difficult. His body felt heavy, unresponsive, as though pinned down by some invisible force pressing him into the mattress.
