The ground opens up in front of him and he is pulled into a dark and silent void, through which he falls for a measureless time, unable to hear or see, tugged at by eldritch breezes.

And then he lands very gently on soft grass at the base of a low hill, with a river some twenty feet away in front of him and a very Disney-aesthetic town visible in the middle distance on the other side.

— right so this is the absolutely classic question, either magic is real or he's gone crazy and what do you do then?

(magic is real, say these thoughts)

(but in any case, now what, say those thoughts)

It's late evening; he can see the beginning of a beautiful sunset from where he sits.

And what else can he see? Might the top of the hill offer a reasonably accessible better view?

It does! He can see a forest, and some more hills, and the course of the river - it curves around to go right through the town, past the golden palace decorated with sunbursts that perches on high ground in the middle.

Everything has - a certain quality to it, like things are more real here, more vivid, more vibrant. Like walking through a movie with excellent set design and flawless colour correction.

Okay, but are the things trying too hard, or do they come by their vividness honestly?

(He's going to go by Andre Norton rules here and assume that if you actually pay attention you can tell whether something is evil by gut feel. Because if it's the other sort of thing, he's probably doomed anyway.)

He sits down and studies the grass's grassness.

The grass's grassness is very grassy. It looks like it could be perfectly natural, it just... happened to come out in an especially aesthetically pleasing way, down to the smallest detail.

—right. That'll do for now. And now he needs to take a minute. Flop. The grass even sounds extra grassy.

And the sun is going down and he hardly packed for camping and his only option for reasonable shelter looks like the town, much as he would rather not now do the NEW PEOPLE thing with way too little information. Up. Go. Don't tense up.

The town continues to give off a vaguely Disney-fairy-tale aesthetic as he rounds the river's curve toward it.

There is a large white tiger wearing a gold-trimmed white sash around her neck, fastened with a golden sunburst pin. She appears to be patrolling the edge of town. When she sees him, she pauses and looks consideringly in his direction, then turns toward him.

"Excuse me," she says. "Are you in need of assistance?"

oh of course talking animals

better than a tiger you can't understand

He shakes his head sharply and looks properly at the tiger. “—yes?”

She nods gravely and sits. "Lost?" she guesses.

“Quite lost.”

"You're in the city of Bright River, capital of the Kingdom of Day. If neither of those sounds familiar, I venture to guess you're an outworlder."

“What do outworlders do?”

"Outworlders are invited to meet the King when they feel ready to do so, and in the meantime I'm happy to help them find things such as a meal and a place to stay," says the tiger. "My name is Stormcloud; I'm a member of the Royal Guard. Helping people is my job."

(don't ask for a tent and food, that would be weird and you might be stuck with gear intended for otters and you don't know how rules about being on land work here)

(don't ask how to get home, that never works and are you going to run away)

(don't think about meeting the King)

“Yes, a meal, and a place to stay, and — I would like to learn about this place and about outworlders and about — how one meets the King.

“Do you have books?”

"Yes, certainly," she agrees. "I can get you a room at my friend's inn and show you to the library in the morning, if that's agreeable?"

(don't ask if there's a catch, because what would you do if there is, and his best guess is there isn't)

“yes. Yes.”

She nods. "This way, then."

And off through the city. There aren't many people about.

But of the not many, are they all tigers, or...?

Nope! There is a short man in an enormous floppy-brimmed hat, and a peacock in a glittering diamond necklace, and a quartet of tiny deer traipsing out the front door of an inn, under the shadow of the large colourful woven basket that serves as its sign.

Stormcloud takes him around to the side door. There is a tree rooted next to it.

(Hopefully there are no people small enough to accidentally step on.)

(That's a slightly odd place for a tree.)

He follows Stormcloud.

Nobody less than about a foot tall so far, and that was the deer, who are bulkier than humanoids of a similar height would be.

Into the inn they go. The side hall is quiet. Stormcloud sticks her head through a door - all the doors here seem to be saloon-style, which makes sense given the general scarcity of hands - and calls softly, "Pebble, got a moment?"

A parrot with bright blue-and-green feathers swoops in and perches atop the door.

"Spare room for an outworlder?" says Stormcloud, retracting her head from the doorway.

"Sure," says, apparently, Pebble. "Number ten, down the hall on your left. Welcome to the Kingdom of Day."

“—Thank you for your hospitality.”

Speaking more to Stormcloud, “Ah, how many kingdoms are there?”

"No trouble at all," says Pebble.

"Two," says Stormcloud.