Farha brushed past the nurse and strode back into the light. The weight was off her shoulders, she felt free. There was a touch of melancholy remaining deep inside. It was as if a portion of her being had been left behind in that dim room. Was she better off for having removed it? Farha shook her head and fell in behind a row of soldiers marching by. Contemplating what could be, was of no use. Only the next step was worth the mental energy.

Billows of dust were being kicked up by the tramping boots ahead of her. She could feel it hitting her teeth each time she inhaled. Dropping back a few paces, the air was much clearer. However, it also had the consequence of many people interrupting her course. She flowed with the pattern, slowing her steps, quickening them, dodging the interlopers. It reminded her of a dance. Or of the careful footwork required for a successful duel.

The flow relaxed her. Unfortunately, she had to turn onto another street, throwing the pattern into chaos. But there was still an art to the madness. The flow of people curved around obstacles, and each other, forming a natural current between the tents. Farha let herself ride along in it, only experiencing two mild collisions before she arrived back where she had gained consciousness.

Ignoring a few comments thrown her way by the loafers across the street, she ducked into the humid tent. Edgar was still sleeping soundly. Inside was far from quiet, besides his snoring, and Farha marveled at his ability to block it all out. Though she had to admit, she herself had only woken up an hour ago.

With a sigh, and another tiny pang of her heart, -hopefully it would soon fade for good- she stepped over to the occupied bedroll. Peering down at Edgar, she nudged his back with her foot. No reaction. She furrowed her brow and pushed a bit harder. Still nothing? What would it take to- oh...finally. The snoring had stopped. Why was he still not moving? She readied a sharper kick, but just as her foot was beginning to descend, he rolled to a mostly upright position.

"Ah, I'm a roast'n alive in 'ere. Farha? What are you- oh. Is Ahven alright? Did they say where he be?"

"He's unconscious still. The nurse didn't appear to be overly worried but it's difficult to say for sure. They did all they could so either he'll recover or..."

Confusion spread across his face but concern rapidly overtook it. He lifted the top of his shirt and wiped the sweat from his face. The cloth was already soaked. With a grimace, he let it drop.

"I must go see him. He saved us from that...that beast." He stared blankly past Farha's shoulder with fear reflecting from his eyes. Shaking his head, he returned to the present. "Maybe I can be o' some use."

"Well, he's well trained with the sword so it makes sense he would be the one to challenge it. Besides, isn't that why my father sent him along? To protect us along the way? He was just doing his job."

Edgar's confusion returned with a vengeance and his eyes snapped to Farha's, askance.

"You dare to lessen his sacrifice? His bravery? Fie for shame! I didn't see you take any swipes at the thing."

Cold rage rushed through Farha's veins, her face displaying a similar sentiment.

"How dare I? All you did was throw some sticks around. Did you even hit with a single one? I was the one who was at risk. I tended his wounds through the whole night. Whether he lives or dies is out of my hands."

"Farha, I know well 'nough what you've been through. I was there as well. I won't have you besmerching, basmerchen?... " He shook his head around the troublesome word. "I won't have you dishonoring the man. He risked, and might lose, his life for the both of us."

A withering flame of guilt melted through the ice. Farha quickly snuffed it out.

"Fine."

An awkward silence filled the tent. Edgar turned away and gathered a few belongings before rising to his feet with a groan. He poked his head through the flaps in a comical copy of Farha, from earlier in the day. Squinting against the light, he stepped out and turned to face the entrance. Farha stood with arms crossed in the shadowed interior, staring back at him.

"Are you coming along?"

"No, I was just there. Why are we even here? Was this our destination all along?"

Edgar sighed, stepped slightly closer, and lowered his voice.

"It is, sure 'nough. We'll be a staying 'ere for quite a while seein' as how you'll be training."

"Training? Here? Half these people couldn't use a blade to save their life. Which is particularly ironic considering their choice of employment."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Choice? Well, I wouldn't be a judging too quick like. 'sides, 'ere you are standing about while Ahven could be dying. I'm going to check on my friend. You can stay there or go find the training camp if you must. I think it's on over to the north side."

With a sorrowful look added to a disdainful smile, Edgar turned and left.

The tent felt emptier than just his missing presence. Farha stood there, she didn't know for how long. The sliver of her heart which continued to rebel against her intent, called her to follow. To give up this conviction and run after Edgar. Peering out through the opening of the tent flaps, Farha continued to stand.

Eventually, she let her folded arms drop to her sides. Setting her shoulders, she took a deep breath and ventured forth. Everything was still the same. People rushed or strolled by, whatever their prerogative. The same bright sun shone down on them all. The colors appeared even more muted than the typical effect of the mid-day light. Which way was north?

Turning this way and that, Farha wracked her brain for the lesson. It had been a few years since her teachers had explained the rising and setting of the sun and moons.

"If that's south, then that must be north."

Her muttering drew a few perplexed glances but maybe they were more confused by her turning in place. It didn't matter. Direction set, she created a mental route of the camp. Earlier on, she had seen quite a bit of it in her wanderings. Thankfully, it wasn't a complete waste. Setting a quick pace, she navigated through the endless rows of canvas. Twice, she lost her way, but a familiar flaw in the wall or arrangement of intersections provided clear landmarks. Ignoring everything else, both internal and external, she arrived at the northern gate without incident.

The guards here were paying even less attention than those she had passed by before. They didn't even look up from their dice as she walked by. Once again, she was hit with the fresher air outside the walls. The breeze had picked up but unfortunately not enough to overcome the heat. Wistfully, she pictured the refreshing stream to the east. If it was always this warm, she would happily forget about the grime.

But no, she had a destination. Best to just keep moving. The ground was fresher here as well. Still trammeled beyond any gardener's nightmare, but blades of grass were at least attempting to grow. The path wound between a couple of low hills providing a scenic view for its travelers. Or maybe the trees far away were the ones who benefited. They watched the figures pass, silent as ever. Their leaves twirling added a musical rustle, an ointment for the soul.

They danced with the currents of air, as that short figure turned and scanned the horizon. What did she see to the south? That endless puddle sparkling in the distance? Or was she looking at the mountains slightly more east? That horrid place where nothing grew? Their branches bent down, calling her.

Or so she thought. After all, they were just trees. The sea was infinitely fascinating to be sure, but there was a magnetism to the mountains. She could feel it deep within, a calling. Was this what people referred to as being homesick? A moment to inspect her state of being, no, it was something else. That longing for home, for the familiar, was there beyond a shadow of a doubt. But there lurked something more ambiguous right next to longing; a thrumming call, faint but ever-present.

Farha shook her head. Enough stalling. With her back to the sea, she continued up the path. Around the next hill, she finally saw her destination. She wasn't sure if it was a disappointment or not. There in a large bowl sat another camp. The first thing that struck her was the lack of walls. If that wasn't enough, there was so much color! Rich purples, vibrant oranges, soft greens, they clashed and blended together in a strangely pleasing way.

Those colors were primarily spread across two short rows of tents. But it was difficult to call them tents after the multitude of beige ones she had left behind. These were small houses! Some round, others a conglomeration of geometry folded together. Flags flew in front of most, the displayed crests still too small to be recognized. Between the two rows, was a pit of sorts. She hated to see more sand but for training, there really was no better surface. It caught at the feet, punishing sloppy technique, but also created a cushioning for the many falls. Unless it was raining.

Farha shuddered at the thought, long-forgotten aches striking phantom pain at her limbs. They must have brought the sand all the way from the sea! It was the sea that had beaches right? Or was that islands? Peninsulas? Wherever they sourced it from, it was a welcome sight. The familiarity overtook her disdain for the mineral.

Her legs had kept their measured strides. She was now at the edge of the little camp, and the details were just as novel. Woven artwork adorned the magnificent tents. Repeating patterns matched perfectly with the crests displayed alongside them. However, she ignored them in favor of the pit. It was beautifully done. A circular walkway had been built around it. The wooden planks had each been placed to symmetrically surround the sand below. It was even with the ground around it, but the sandy portion had been carved down into the ground. Though it was only a foot lower at the sides and perhaps five in the center, it created perfect viewing angles for any conflict occurring within.

Incidentally, it gave Farha an unobstructed view of a few figures standing atop the sand. Was this a team exercise? Some sort of group combat training? But where were the instructors? She looked around but there was no one else in sight. As she drew closer, the voices became clearer.

"Oh really? You think that makes a difference to me? You admitted it yourself you ingrate little vermin. You came across the sea."

Maybe this wasn't training. Three adolescent boys, all dressed in finer clothing than what Farha had avoided at her peerage party, were encroaching on another boy's space. His exotic appearance was the first thing that stuck out to Farha. He was as tan as she was, but his blonde hair and vividly green eyes was an uncommon sight, especially in combination. Those eyes were currently darting around, searching for anything to latch on to. They jumped to Farha's, she could feel the desperation.

"I'm Estorien the same as all of you! Just because Meloth is on the frontlines doesn't mean anything!"

"Sounds like excuses to me. What do you take us for? Some commoners who will be deceived by your claims of nobility? We know who you are and why you've come here. What say you fellows? Shall we put an end to this spy before he has a chance to begin his deplorable scummery?"

Those green eyes locked with Farha's again, pleading with her. She looked back, preemptively pushing down the pang. It was always too much.