The roads were muddy and slick, clinging to the hooves and the wheels and the feet of the long string of travelers. Looking across the landscape, Lasura could only feel sick for the grey, soggy plains. The lack of trees or hills only further emphasized her belief that these people she now found herself surrounded by were no longer blessed by the spirits. Why else would they choose to live in such a wasteland? Of course, their choice of surrounds was certainly not the only thing that lowered their worth in her eyes; no, that was by far their smallest transgression. But given circumstances, she had no choice but to seek to find a common path with them, to try and find someway to get through so that her people could survive with its unruly neighbors.

The caravan snaked along the muddy tracks; the wagons frequently becoming bogged down in the clay that had been exposed by too many treks across this same trail. Each time, the wagons would have to be offloaded, the goods being placed carefully in the less mucky grass along the sides of the road, the passengers - young children and pregnant woman and elderly couples too weak to fight the sludge - less graciously. Then those of able body, Lasura included would be "supervised" by their military escorts as they pushed the wagon out of its most recent quagmire. After a few rounds of this, many of the passengers opted to walk, although their conditions would argue against it; it was easier to walk they said, than to be forced in and out of the wagon so much. Each time she saw one of he women pause to catch her breath over her swollen belly, or call out to a young child to catch up and not fall behind, her disgust with the situation and the people of Mordone grew.

The days were long and sticky, the officers on their spindly horses pushing the line along, not pausing for lunch or breaks; claiming they were moving slow enough already and could not afford the delays. Lasura did notice that his didn’t stop them from eating or drinking, with pages and lesser officers providing them with food and drink and damp towels for their necks and brows. They weren't forced to pull their feet from the much with every step and became incensed when their horse might hesitate or misstep due to the muck.

In the evenings, these same officers would wait astride their horses, while those same insufferable pages scurried about, setting up pavilion style tents, filled with rugs and cushions and tables and chairs. The women of the tribes would set up their traveling tents and blankets, while the older travelers kept an eye on the children. The soldiers made no effort to help the struggling women with their shelters, but at least they gave no hindrance either.

"Refugees," that was the word that the officers would use, "refugees of the conflict." Lasura would listen to them as they walked during the day, then in the evenings around the fire. She would study what they said of hints of what they would find with they reached this city they were destined for. She never let on that she understood what they were saying, it was better that they not realize she knew. After all, in their minds, these were "savages"; that was how they justified so many things they did. Eavesdropping was frowned upon among the peoples; if you wanted to know something or hear something, the correct thing to do was to move so that you could hear, make eye contact with the speaker that they knew you were listing. Anything less implies that you have ulterior motives, hence the need for spying and secrecy. Among her tribe, there was no call for secrets. But these men were not of her people; they didn't hold to the same values as she. And her violation of this basic precept had held her and her fellow travelers in good stead on this journey. She knew what the men were planning before they acted so had been able to steer the women and children out of harms way more than nonce. Not surprisingly, the soldiers never made the connection, always believing that these were ignorant savages. Lasura knew what refugees meant; and she knew that it was a term they used to fool themselves. She certainly didn’t feel like a refugee; she felt like a prisoner.

The nights passed slowly, spent foraging enough herbs and wild vegetables to combine with the sparse dry meat they had brought o make a thin stew. The smell of the roasting game or fowl that he officers dined on, and even the smell o the stew the soldiers cobbled together made stomachs rumble throughout the camp of tribes folk, then, once the soup was eaten, they would try to remove a layer or two of the filth that clung to them, up to their knees. None of them were used to this sort of grime; they kept to the fields of tall grass of the valley, mud was something of sink holes and creek beds. It wasn't something that you followed like some beacon; it was something you avoided. But these men clung to this trail of filth, mindless of the folly. Early on in this trek, some of the women had tried to walk along side the path, though the grasses shrubs that flanked. The soldiers had quickly rounded them back up, and for that day rode alongside the women, making sure they didn't stray even a step. Lasura had tried to explain to the others that the soldiers thought they were trying to escape, but refused to say anything to the officers, even though her fellow women pleaded with her; she would not reveal her knowledge of their speech over something so trivial. Bye the fourth day however, Lasura wondered if it was trivial. if they were guests and refugees, why would escape be such an issue? You did not worry about escaping gusts; escape was something a captive did. Besides, the struggle against the mud was taking its toll on al of them; each night, her legs and back and shoulders ached a bit more from the effort of lifting each foot. She wasn’t sure that her discomfort would allow her to hold her tongue for much longer. She made up her mind to say something that evening at dinner. That evening, just as the camp had finished being set and the cooking fires had settled into low embers, the rains came. These were not the rains of the mountains, with fresh, bright drops, clearing the air and refreshing the spirit. This was a dull, grey rain, that fell in stringy sheets, making the whole world damp and close, coloring the grass and trees and people a grey to match the skies which bore them. It was testament to the unpleasantness of their journey, Lasura thought, that when the rains started and all the soldiers and officers scurried for cover in tents and pavilions and tarps, the travelers simply sat, bowing their heads from the rain. At least if it continues long enough, they whispered, it might serve to wash away some of he mud. This very idea, and the ridiculousness of the spectacle of military men hiding from the natural lifted their spirits just a big. They would chuckle to themselves occasionally as they thought of this, and spread their cloaks around them to receive more of the downpour; stretching boots out before them to rinse way the grime.

Lasura hesitated to speak with the officers now; that would require her not only approaching them and breaking her silence, but also would mean being alone in a tent, concealed from the safety of prying eyes.

'This rain will just make the trail that much worse tomorrow,' she thought.

Sighing, she stood and wringing what little of the water she could from her hair, she made her way towards the nearest tent.

The rough voices from inside were not the deep guttural, masculine voices she was familiar with from home. These men rumbled and purred in their native tongue; it was a language that sounded to Lasura and the others to be one of hesitation, with rolling sounds and shushing sounds; very different from the direct, confident clipped sounds of her own tongue. Trying to ignore her own distaste for these people and their habits, Lasura made her way quietly to the tent flap. As she extended her hand to rap on the tent pole outside the entrance, she froze; she cocked her head slightly and closed her eyes. She couldn’t afford to misunderstand what it was she was overhearing.

"Cap'n says we've made good time, although those women are slower than XXXX. Expects we'll be to AAA sometime mid-morning tomorrow."

"God's teeth this has been a long trip! Can't wait to get myself into a warm bath and then a good bed. And a bit o' company wouldn’t be unappreciated neither. You'd think that with all these damn women around, a man could get a bit o' companionship!"

"You don't want none o' that lot! They've got to be filthier than a street whore. Just look at 'em. Mangy things..."

Lasura considered being offended at this, but then it occurred to her that such attitudes simply ensured that the women would endure less harassment by the men they traveled with. Besides, she really wasn't interested in their opinions or their attention. What was really important is that they were almost there, wherever "there" was. This news was well worth one more day of slogging through the muck. Being doubly careful, Lasura retraced her steps back to the make-shift camp of her tribe.

"Tomorrow we reach our destination," her hushed tone still carried to all the tribesmen around her. The air was filled with a mix of relief and apprehension; the unpleasantness of known circumstances being replaced by the unknown of what was to come.

The dawn of the next day, the weather was a perfect reflection of her mood; ambivalent. The air was cool, but not crisp with the sun hinting at shining, but not committing to anything just yet. The rain had ceased some time after mi night, but traces of clouds still threatened, as if reminding the party of what it was capable of as evidence by the previous night. Tents were packed away and remnants from dinner quickly consumed in preparation for the final day of the trek. Lasura tried desperately to be up beat and positive in he face of so many worried looks on her tribes folk. They were worried about what await them ahead, and she for one could not blame them. She was no less worried, but she refused to let them know that. Her whole life she had been a stable source of strength and information and now that was needed more than ever, she was not about to let it falter even the slightest. If her outward countenance was convincing to those around her, inwardly, she was not near so confident. What could hey possibly expect from such a people as they had seen thus far? But she had taken his duty upon herself and was not about to fail now that she was so close. That she had no real idea how she would gain an audience with the rulers of this city, "Details. I am right in my journey; the spirits will aid me." Although she was not convinced, her faith in the spirits was at least enough to get Lasura moving once again along the path that grey morning.

The time passed quickly enough and soon the travelers could see other "roads" that snaked across he landscape that would, assumably, meet with their own somewhere ahead of hem. The first of these intersections revealed a track that made he one hey currently followed seem like a smooth, lean trail, it was so filled with ruts and rocks. There was no sign of travelers along this path, which came as a relief to the chaperones leading the way.

"No sign of anyone, sir," the call came from the scout as he rode back towards the group.

"Excellent. Let's pick up the pace a bit, see if we can't make AAA by lunchtime!" The officer was on his spindly, skittish horse as always. Surrounded as he was by lesser officers and pages and such, it seemed a miracle to Lasura that they cold move forward at all. But then, the animals they called horses were a far cry from those that she was used to. These seemed so thin and fragile; legs like twigs that were certainly a great weak point. And they were nervous, high-strung things, prone to bolt or shy; to the point that a few of them were fitted with shields on their eyes so that they couldn’t see the world around them and potentially spook. Yet at the same time they were loyal to anyone willing to spoil them with sweets or other treats. They needed a great deal of care and tending, with soldiers dedicated to nothing but the care of the mounts of the procession - feeding, brushing, cleaning hooves, examining every inch. Then at night blankets and fires - even so far as moving them under tarps to shield them from the rains.

"I'd be more prone to eat them than ride them," Lasura had thought the firs time she'd laid eyes on the creatures. "More trouble than they are worth."

The Domchaa were horse people, although their version of horse was a far cry from these soft, delicate things. The horses of the Domchaa were strong and hearty, capable of withstanding and even traveling through the biting winds that would tear through the valleys in winter. They were stockier, with shorter, thicker legs that would be a challenge to crack even with an iron hammer in the hands of a grown man.

Horses were members of the Domchaa. They were always taken into account with all tribe decisions and were raised and taught and cared for with the same consideration that was given to the children. But like those children, they were expected to do their part for the good of the group, to stay out of trouble and to obey the rules. More than their hardiness, what made the horses of the Domchaa so sought after was their intelligence. They could be taught dozens of commands and could remember trails and paths throughout the mountain passes from year to year without error. A far cry from the animals that currently traveled with Lasura. "The best one could hope for out of these things would be to find the way to the nearest feedbag."

The sun had moved another hands breadth by the time they reached the second junction in the road. Here, if she looked one way down the new path, she could see another caravan of travelers heading their way. In the other direction, she got her first good look at their destination.

AAA Description

"Marton!" The captain bellowed out, setting his pale mount to dancing in place and the aids scrambling to settle the beast while keeping their own under control. Lasura and a few of the other women had to struggle to keep from laughing at the ridiculous site.

"Yessir?"

The man he called Marton was young, clean faced like a boy. But it was an honest face; Lasura estimated he hadn't been in the service to this man long.

"You are to ride back along the Eastern Road here and hold anyone who would pass until we are well on our way. Then you are to catch up to us and resume your rear guard."

"Yes sir!"

To Lasura's eye, Marton seemed particularly pleased to be singled out for such a task. Although she couldn't imagine that the group in the distance would be any threat to the party.

'More likely they want to keep anyone from seeing who exactly we are,' her thoughts were no comfort to her as that didn't bode well as to their fate upon reaching the city.