A moment later, she's on a grassy hillside, with no snake in sight.  Some sheep look up and baa questioningly at her.

Between some other hills, she can see an orchard some ways away.

There's a wooden rail fence nearby that looks well-maintained, so... probably there're some people nearby?

"...Well, let's find some people."  Onwards!  To civilization!  ...She hopes!

When she first touches the fence, she feels a very slight - but noticeable - pressure, almost as if the wood's swelling under her hand.

It's a little while before she hears a dog barking from around the corner of a hill.

...That's very strange and she doesn't...know what it is.  Probably magic, but how and why?  Is it her?  Is it the fence?  Either way, it would be rude to break it!

...Oh, joy, a dog.  She's not very fond of dogs.

Well, at least this one probably won't get all up in her personal space...

Still.  Walking, walking, not-touching-the-fence-more-ing...

The dog - a large brown shaggy dog - runs up grinning but stays on the other side of the fence from her, wagging its tail furiously.

A minute later, a heavy-built man comes up with... is that a magic wand?... tucked in his belt.  "Hello, er, miss?  Are you a new visitor here?"

"No, I'm pretty sure I'm rather incredibly lost.  Not-on-the-same-planet lost, if I'm even in the same universe - which I doubt, because there sure isn't anything like the magic in your fence or the wand on your belt in mine - minus whatever got me here in the first place."

He raises his (very bushy) eyebrows.  "Hmm.  No magic at all?  Sounds hard."

"We made do.  Got to some pretty impressive heights once we figured out how to make rocks think the hard way, had machines for doing repetitive work, before that.  Went to - I don't even know if you have a moon.  ...And I'm not going to question how the fuck we're speaking the same language lest whatever benevolent gods there are choose this moment to deprive me of it.  Unless that was questioning enough, but you don't look suddenly more confused."

His eyebrows go up even higher.  "Rocks thinking?  Rather they not think, myself.  Sheep can be hard enough to handle...  Best for you to go into town; folks there would want to know about whatever brought you here.  And get you a place to stay."  He gestures in the direction of where she saw the houses earlier.

He purses his lips, and after a moment adds, "Show you the way?"

"Not literally thinking, but doing complex math to the point that what you could make that math do was getting pretty eerie, before, uh."

She gestures at herself.

"I ended up here.  Honestly, I'm glad to not have to worry about that problem.

"And...yes, I'd appreciate a guide, if you've nothing better to do."

He frowns, and gestures for her to follow him down the fence line.  "Gate this way...  Golems, then?  Never seen one, but Sister wrote some things 'bout them...  Tricky, bad business, sounds like."

After a minute, they're at the gate; he taps it with two fingers before undoing the latch.  "I'm Randall.  You?"

"Not exactly, or at least approaching the concept from vastly different directions than the - well, you wouldn't have the story.

"Anyway, automata yes, but thinking machines no.

"Annnd you can call me Mira, I suppose. 

"...Sister?  As in your sister?  Or a Sister of something-or-other?"

Randall smiles a bit and shakes his head.  "My sister, Tilda.  She's workin' at the palace, helpin' keep things straight with so many things goin' on there.  Wrote me a warning 'bout evil golems; said there was a sad story..."  He frowns.  "Wish she'd said who was doin' it, but she said that part's kept secret."

(They're walking through an apple orchard now, down a dirt path, Randall in the lead with the dog at his heels.)

A moment later, he snaps his fingers.  "Say, now that I mention Tilda, if you want to talk about your no-magic world an' figure out how to get back an' such, she's just the person to know where to go."

"Sounds like the right sort of person, aye.  What's going on at the Palace that needs so much keeping straight?"

"Oh, hearin' all sorts of arguments and disputes between people and cities and businesses and everywhere, keepin' the spellwagons and mail and everything running, appointin' all the recorders and half the teachers an' such an' improvin' all the books they're usin', and of course lookin' into new magic too..."  He shrugs.  "Myself, I like to leave it to the people who're good at it.  What's the Palace do in your world?"

Suddenly he looks surprised.  "Just realized - it'd be really different without magic; you'd just have a human as Queen."

"Yeah, and then we decided we'd rather not.  So everybody votes on - well, representatives, who vote on things - these days.  What's your Queen, then?

"And if the Palace is a center of research...I imagine I have quite a bit to contribute.  I wasn't a scientist, but I'm very well-read."

As they leave the orchard, the town is very close - there's a core of quaint-looking tile-roofed brick buildings in neat rows on one side, and then some more haphazardly-located wood buildings on the other side.  There's some line running away from town between them in the distance, that looks almost like it might be a railway line.

"Huh.  We've got some of those too, but the Queen can always say no to them.  She's an Elf, after all; been ruling us ever since, well, since before there was a Suinel.  Since the Last War, almost.  Immortal, an' fuller of magic than all of us humans put together."

"...Well, if she isn't doing a shit job, I guess there's no reason to give much of a damn, but boy do I Not Like That just on general principle."

"Well."  He looks nonplussed.  "Got any better idea?"  It's clearly a rhetorical question.

"Immortal god-queens are great and all, until someone mind-controls them.  And I'm from the country of my homeworld that cares the most about democracy, to boot.  And then there's my political leanings, which are even further skew in the direction of freedom-from-boots-on-necks.  If all y'all actually like your Queen, want to keep her around?  Honestly, it ain't my place to say nothin'.  But I come from a tradition of, at least, trying to listen to everyone's voice.  ...Even when half of them are bloody stupid bigoted asshats who refuse to even - "

"...ohhh, this is not a good thought I'm having.

"What's the state of medicine?  Because there's concerns I have about whether we have different diseases and I need to know if y'all can handle that.  Fuck, fuck, why did I not think of this," she sing-songs, clearly berating herself, "immune-system vulnerabilities kill a shitton of people and I'm assuming we have the same basic biochemistry, and I'm not vaccinated against your common colds, please tell me you have figured out how disease transmission works,"

The streets aren't crowded, but there're some people there - most of the men and a few of the women in the same worn pants Randall's wearing, or overalls.  More of the women are wearing long skirts, though, smooth enough to not be home-sewn.  They're clearly noticing Mira and Randall, but only giving her some side glances.

(If she's paying attention, they're headed through the brick section of town, towards the might-be-rail-line.)

"Medicine?  Wish it was better.  Had my best ewe die last year; gave her some medicine and it kept her around for another month or so, but she didn't make it in the end.  But yeah, we know how diseases spread... leastwise for us; not sure about wherever you're from."  He gives her an appraising stare.  "When was the last time you washed your hands?"

"Oh thank goodness, you know enough about germ theory to ask that question.  Couple hours ago, maybe?  I'm in the habit of doing it at least every time I, ah.  Excrete.  And if I've been doing anything more strenuous - and consequently dirty - than walking around, I try to do it before eating.  'course, that doesn't really help with the airborne stuff, but unless we're in one of the weird lines of probability where you have something that hits me like it's HIV when it's just what y'all's bodies naturally cultivate for whatever reason...or vice-versa...and I really doubt that.  You look too human for me to really suspect - shenanigans like that from the universe, although I'm going to be very annoyed if I end up catching all the kiddie diseases I dodged on Terra.  ...D'you know that lead's bad for you?"

"Lead, bad?  How?"

He shakes his head.  "Y'know, there's this girl in the Research Mages who talks just like you, just 'bout magic.  Sister was telling me 'bout her, the last letter, an' how she only understands half of what she's saying but she knows it's important.  Maybe you should get together and have fun chasin' down all each other's tangents."

He stops in front of a larger building with a sign saying "POST".

"Want t' send a letter to Sister an' the palace an' hear back maybe tomorrow, maybe next day?  Or just head there yourself with the letter?"

"It accumulates in your body and fucks shit up, especially thinking, and it never goes away.  ...I think I'd like to meet this fellow questioner of things!  ...And hope I can do magic; magic is the one thing I've always hoped to find, you know?"

Randall looks uncomfortable at that description, but then shakes his head.  "Can't do anythin' myself... an' anyway, never heard of any lead out in the fields.  Anyway, 'bout magic, you're definitely at the right place, then.  Ev'ryone says Suinel has the best magic anywhere since the Days of Wonder."

Randall leads them down the street toward another building with a sign saying "STATION."