47th Day of Winter, 512 AV
The slow, plodding pace of the caravan had worn Sybel’s patience into nothing. It had been that or sea travel, so she’d picked the lesser of the two evils. Along the way she’d instructed her newfound friend here and there, bestowing trifles of her experience. It’d afforded a valuable lesson on the finer points of teaching. Eleret had received them well nonetheless and with the thought, she shot a glance at the woman and her pony who were bundled against the cold. She couldn’t say she blamed them. Sybel drew her cloak in so tightly it might have been her second skin. She rejected the probing fingers of frigid air with a frown.
Due to the narrow corridor of Mirahil Pass, their pace was somewhere between a walk and a crawl. The wagons creaked with each turn of their wheels, the din of conversations flowing around her. There was really nothing to break the monotony save her thoughts, which were less than pleasant. Sybel was used to the dry heat of the desert. It had been years since her last trip to Yahebah, but nuture and nature agreed; Sybel did not like the moisture and she did not like the cold. They’d made excellent time considering their late start. Still, there were a few unpleasant experiences along the way. There was nothing like drunken song keeping you awake, night after night. She had saddlesores and worse, she smelled like an alehouse. These things wouldn’t normally bother her, but the slow pace concerning their admittance had set her over the edge.
When the brunt of the wagons made their way through the rocky ravine, Sybel finally followed suit. Her calves itched to dig in and rocket toward the city proper but one glance at her friend dispelled that thought. Eleret would hurt herself or someone else if she tried to follow, and if not… Well it was just rude. It was a wholly irritating revelation. Sybel had been independent for so long that it became difficult to cater to anyone else’s needs. She derived pleasure from being helpful, but that only went so far. It wasn’t poor Eleret’s fault – there really hadn’t been any helping it. It was just the short tempered Benshira’s fault. She’d shoulder the responsibility exclusively.
The port city sat, a mass of structures attached to the sea. The place was incredible in scope though from the hills it looked like nothing more than a child’s plaything. Descent brought along reality, as the spidery docks were obscured by the high walls. Eplah whickered, eager to be at rest. The path was weather-beaten from horse’s hooves and wagon wheels. It seemed there was little variation when it came to travel in Mizahar. Perhaps with the Watchtowers there once was, but there was little fun to be had in that. Convenience aside, instantaneous travel was overrated.
They were in the city before long, safely out of the wilderness. The thought was incredibly heartening. Sybel grinned up at the dim, overcast sky. They had an altogether new adventure ahead of them.