Curtains fluttered in the early morning breeze. The cool light cutting through the thin fabric as it did every day. Spilling across the bed, it struck Farha's eyes causing its usual annoyance...but no, she was not there. The light invaded the entire house, striking at minuscule openings in its desperate bid to eradicate the slightest shadow. Ah, there she was. Sitting atop a sturdy but finely crafted wagon, two magnificent horses hitched at the front. Farha was glaring at enough already, the sun didn't receive a single one.

Coughing, Farha drew a thin cloth over her lower face to filter out the dust. The air was thick with it. A horde of people were kicking it up as they hurried about their lives. A representative of that larger group of culprits rolled by, its rough wheels tossing as much sand and dust into the air as ten people could create with brooms. Admittedly, Farha was used to this. She would typically escape to the rooftops or behind the barrier of thick walls. A longing look traced its way up a nearby chimney as it extended above one of the aforementioned roofs. She shook her head and resumed her glower. Today she was a prisoner.

Sitting beside her was Ahven, instructor of pain, suffering, and torture. If asked, she knew he would claim he simply taught the blade to many an aspiring noble. What lies! Surely none were fooled by the kindly smile he so skillfully used to disguise his evil nature. That smile was turned on her this moment, but she refused to crack.

"No doubt you are eager to set out. This will be your first time leaving the city, correct?"

Despicable, even his words hid sharp edges just waiting for her to misstep. She let her furrowed brow meet his smile in silence. That smile began to show subtle signs of strain and discomfort but it did not fully waver. With a huff, Farha gave in.

"Yeah."

She decided to count this as a victory, a grimace was now visible. A suppressed sigh also forced its way out, a double victory then!

"Well...I'm sure there will be time for conversation on the road."

A random passerby did a double-take at the two obviously annoyed figures sitting in the wagon. 'Right glad am I ta not be a'tween either of those joyful souls.' he thought and promptly forgot, continuing on his way to the butchers. Oblivious, Farha and Ahven were in a battle of wits as to who could also forget the other had spoken. Needless to say, both lost.

The last of the ‘joyful souls’, finally emerged from the courtyard, carrying the last bundle of supplies. Pity Edgar, for someone needs to. The man was already covered in sweat despite the cool morning air rolling across the city. He tossed the bag on top of the others in the wagon, tied off the securing rope, and tromped to the front. A quick pat of the horses and a final check of their tack was as much stalling as he could manage.

Regretfully turning to fully face the bench, and the two stoic figures who sat atop it, he spit off to the side with a grimace.

"We ready to crack the Mandelbulb?"

"..."

"..."

"Eh, 's enough for me. Well slide over, one of yuhs."

Two sets of eyes darted to the empty space between them, quickly returning to their blank positions. Aside from that tiny sign of life, two statues sat on that wooden bench, not a crack to be seen.

"A right cheery lot you are." Edgar spit to the side again, disgruntled. "Suit y'urself."

His face twisted up in concentration, hands and feet in an odd alignment. Sand blew out from under him as he leapt up and landed with a resounding thud. The newly occupied portion of the bench bent and creaked in protest, but it managed to hold firm. Brushing sand from their eyes, Farha begrudgingly admired the strength and skill it took to achieve such a leap. Both she and the other malcontent occupant felt their inadvertent truce slipping. A clinched grip on the wagon frame on one side, and a deep series of breaths on the other, managed to hold the peace...barely.

"A shame we've only a week on the road. Such joyous company. A shame I say." Edgar's gruff mumbles continued on but they became drowned out as he snapped the reins and they jolted into motion. The clopping of hooves beat out a rhythmic pattern undercut by the rumbling of the wheels. Farha slowly relaxed her stiff posture, resigned to her fate. Or rather, resigned to its inevitability. She took the time to breathe in the sights once more.

Shouting peddlers, angry overseers, the quiet workers passing by...even the fascinating messengers shooting along, leaving currents of air in their wake as they sprinted...it all felt empty and lifeless. Vibrant colors of awnings and clothing appeared muted. Lively music in the distance sounded dull and uninspired, almost mocking her misery. She let them fade away behind her. There was a paradox internally. A constant flipping between apathy and unrestrained rage clawing its way out. Wave after wave crashed over the other leaving Farha worried for her growing exhaustion. It was only second hour!

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There was no other choice, no other option, she had to endure. But nothing said she couldn't seethe at the notion. Time has a funny way of smothering grasped emotions, given enough, they inevitably fade. Farha was unfortunate enough to know this principle. She tightened her stubborn hold, vowing to never let go. Despite her internal turmoil, the cart rolled on. It bumped and jerked through the worn streets with determination. It would pull her forward regardless of her silent protests.

At the gate, Farha cradled her last bit of hope. Maybe, just maybe, the guards wouldn't let them through. What if she called out? Claimed a kidnapping or mistreatment? Would they even care? Only a bored glance at Ahven's parchment and they were waved through. The finality of exiting the city hit Farha with a crash. This was actually happening. Things would never be the same.

Still the horses trod forwards, ever forwards, the perfect picture of placidity. You would think: ‘Ah! Now she will slowly let go and accept the situation.’ Well, you could be more wrong, but that’s just being semantic. Suffice it to say, she did not let go. No, she clutched tighter, drawing it in and meshing it into the core of her being. There are moments in life that act as a catalyst, a turning point. Some experience many while others, only a few. But this does not lessen their impact or influence. To avoid further digression, this was one such moment.

She felt it deeply, the shifting. A sliver of her subconscious cried out in horror at the damage being done. Damage or progress? Who could say. Farha could feel the pain in either case and frankly, she chose not to care which it was in actuality. There was an ache, a pain-filled reshaping, and then the framework of her soul snapped to its new arrangement.

Though her eyes had remained open, discounting the occasional blink, now she could see again. Her mind was clear, mostly. There was a lingering sense of something being lost...gained?...it didn't matter. What did matter was the future. She would not capitulate to another infringement of her agency.

"...and I told 'em, I did. I says, 'an' who made you ad-jud-i-cater and hangman?' Right proud I am o' that 'un." Edgar's incessant jabbering rose back into Farha's awareness. "He just looked at me, he did. This e'spression of outrage all 'cross his face. Well, the whole place laughed him right out the door. That's when I slid my three pewt's across the table and said. 'A'right chaps, it's time I be toss'n the broom out after 'em."

Farha rolled her eyes then turned back in shock as an uproarious bout of laughter burst from Ahven. It continued far too long. As the man was gasping for air, Farha couldn't prevent the small smile that traced its way across her face. At the point where Ahven was wiping the tears from his eyes, a chuckle of her own burst out. She clamped it back down but everything did seem a little brighter.

And the cart rolled on.

Rising out of the basin the irritating sand, that got everywhere, slowly transitioned to dry soil. Plants stood in defiance of the lack of moisture, their rough leaves saluting the sky. Eventually, trees began to appear as they climbed farther up the mountainside. The road here looked well traveled but it was essentially just a path. It curved back and forth with the higher elevation, then burst out in a straight line towards the pass.

They were above the tree line now, and the air was growing in sharpness. At the final crest, Farha looked back. As if a giant's hand held it, her city was nestled far down in the bottom of that basin. No details could be seen at this distance but she imagined the vast collection of human life behind those minuscule walls; doubtless maintaining the same routines and habits as the day prior. She let the air flow out of her mouth and watched the fog curl up from her breath. That city she knew so well disappeared behind the crest, inch by inch.

Once it was hidden from view, she faced the horses and took in the fresh landscape laid out before her. It was a shock. She knew what was beyond their familiar basin, the tutors had made sure of that, but it did nothing to prepare her for physically seeing it.

The setting sun touched an unfathomable expanse. Water, so much water. She did not expect the visceral wonder. The ocean rested off to the left, smooth like glass, far into the distance. On the right, mountains gave way to rolling hills. Like a stairway, they stepped down to fields of green and gold. Dotted at random intervals were splotches of gray or brown. The unnatural shapes of the towns proudly standing out, even in the waning light.

Farha inhaled the sight, etching it into memory. Edgar snapped the reins causing the wagon to lurch forward. When had they stopped? He was speaking with Ahven, but once again, Farha heard them not. Her eyes were bringing in more than enough information. Shadows grew and stole pieces away from her view, slowly but surely. Eventually, only the very peaks of the mountains reflected back the friendly light.

"This appears to be a fine enough place to stop, Edgar. Farha needs her rest. Besides, the light will soon be gone."

"Finally! Right starv'n I am!"

At least she now noticed when the wagon stopped. Her legs nearly gave out as she jumped down. Their stiffness felt bone deep, but a few painful jumps and stretches chased the sensation away.

"If you're done dancing about, we could use as many sticks and branches as you can find. The sooner we produce a stout fire, the sooner we can sleep."

"an' eat!"

"Fine. Since you insist." Farha squinted against the dim light, growing nearer and nearer to full darkness every second. "What of the dangers though? You yourself have warned me about fierce beasts and desperate brigands."

Laden with a large burlap sack, Ahven's response was both strained and muffled.

"I know, and they are dangers that...just get this sticks."

With a huff, Farha set out. She circled their campsite, the only flat ground in the vicinity, searching for anything burnable. Several sticks were inspected but quickly discarded. Since when was wood wet? It took longer than expected, but eventually, she awkwardly held a small bundle of branches, including several she had ripped directly off nearby trees. The firelight filtered between those trunks and in two places highlighted Ahven and Edgar's silhouettes. But that wasn't the only thing they highlighted. Right there, at her feet was something foreign. Seemingly unnatural or more than natural? The flickering light danced across its surface as, with a rustle, branches tumbled to the ground, forgotten.

Farha touched it.