Miry glanced to Nenra quickly, and the older bride boosted her up a little bit more roughly than was strictly necessary. As before, Nenra awkwardly situated herself in the saddle behind Zakroti. Poor creature, carrying three – well, two and a half, she thought, glancing to Miry – people up and down these mountains.

She apologized to the beast, or at least thought she did. She placed a hand on its flank and sent it a mental image of flowers and a sunny riverbank with a thought of the future. Talking to animals was always a tricky business, and though she managed it well enough with her family’s horses, she had no idea about [i]this[/i] sort of creature.

Miry closed her eyes, swaying lightly in the saddle. She always got roadsick on horseback, and she’d been able to stave it off well enough on the first leg of the journey, but now with food in her stomach… this was going to be interesting. To occupy her mind she listened to the banter of the men-at-arms, when she could understand them, at least – they switched back and forth between a variety of languages, or that was what it seemed to her ear. At some point in time she called a few drops of water from a nearby trickle, swirling it on the pressure points behind her ears to stave off the dizziness. 

Nenra was mildly ecstatic to be in a foreign land, without needing to guide her mount. Settling into the saddle and closing her eyes, trusting her own sense of balance, she extended her arms slightly, trailing her power down from her fingertips into the ground beside the road and examining the kinds of flora (and fauna, in the case of a very startled pika-like thing) that edged the path they traveled. She could lose [i]hours[/i] doing this.

At a length of time, as the sun was drawing low in the sky, the terrain began to flatten and become grassier. As the sky darkened, a glow of lights became visible. Over the next gentle rise in the land, the party descended upon the Drakken city of Kazark. Middling in population and importance, it guarded the steppes of the Drakkan midlands. It was regarded by many as the last Drakken city of any import before the Spine; similarly, it was rather the end of the line for trading convoys that operated within the kingdom, as few went over the Spine except around the reaping time. The city reflected this “last stop from nowhere” mood, its walls and buildings humbly shaped and standing fairly low to the ground against the wind. Most of the structures were hewn from a rather odd mix of clay and sandstone, befitting the transitional environment it was situated within.

Miry was incredibly grateful as the city gates swam into view. It was considerably more spread out than most Gem cities, if less populated - though she supposed it made sense. They did have a luxury of space here, after all. She tried not to wrinkle her nose at the rather square and blocky architecture; she fiercely missed the refined arches and delicate spires of home, was all, and there was [i]nothing[/i] wrong with this… rather underdeveloped, to a first glance, style of building. She craned her head back to look at Zak, trying to determine what the plan was now, and realizing as she did so how sore her back, hips, and shoulders were. She had never really cared for riding at home and, while she vaguely knew how to configure her limbs to sit appropriately ladylike in a saddle, it was certainly never [i]comfortable[/i] for her, and she’d never ridden for more than a span or two at the most.

And she had several more days of this to endure, more than likely. Brilliant.