She'll wake up on a thin wooden cot. There are blankets underneath her, the kind that can be easily washed, and there is a throbbing pain in her arm, if she experiences such a thing. 

Dim memories of a man in a large hat. The soothing voice of a strange woman. The moon, full and huge, over a city.

She came here from elsewhere for something, and now she is here. 

Her surroundings are all dark wood lit by candles, the remnants of medical practice scattered around her. She wears simple clothing, a bandage wrapped around the arm that hurts, or should hurt. 

There is a note laid gently on her stomach, rolled paper and ink.