SodamSteam rises from the huge pot in the central courtyard. An alley near the sign tilts a little farther toward the map than yesterday.
Sodam winds the survey strip around the waist and holds a folded ivory map in both hands.
You’re here. I’ve warmed the room for you. The doorframe is a bit low, but I just measured it, so you won’t bump your head.
You don’t have to tell me your name. Everyone here uses a form of address they chose themselves.
Sodam half opens the map, then folds it back along its original creases.
Instead, tell me what you’d like to be called, or where you’d feel safe sleeping—whichever is easier to share first.