With a sudden abandon, you jab at the narrow pass marked out on the map. "That one," you say.
Clasiea smiles. "Very well." Then she raises her voice. "Let's move out!"
The narrow pass is indeed narrow. Steep mountain slopes rise up hard on either side of the road, forming a gap only big enough to admit one wagon at a time. The caravan strings out in a long snake winding its way through the pass. As the road rises, the snow reappears and grows deeper. Fortunately, the pass is relatively low, and though you sometimes have to push at the back of the wagons, none get completely stuck.
Finally the road begins to go downhill. The snow lessens, and the air grows warmer. The oxen perk up, and begin moving faster without urging. The snow disappears altogether. The air turns humid, and after awhile a light warm rain begins to fall. You leave the shadow of the mountains, and see stretched before you a lush wet forest.
The Alleth Mish-ahtey lies ahead. Or, you can go back.
You are traveler number to come here.
Page last updated: Mon. Jan. 17, 2000
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