The ruins of Gara glinted in the distance as they trekked away. Cirin bit an apple and reared his eyes away from the dwindling sight. He wondered if he’d ever come across those Gara again. He swallowed the cold bite, and licked his lips. It was tart and sweet in all the right places, it was as cool as a desert night and as refreshing as a summer swim. If he did run across those few survivors, he’d have try those apples once again.

Cirin turned his eyes to the over-active Sol.

“No more?” he clamoured against a less than enthused Azhar.

“No more.” Confirmed Azhar.

“But they were so sweet! Lets go back and get more!”

Azhar halted his march and lited the small prince by his back, not unlike a mother pup would with her pup. Azhar stared the boy in the eye, “We need ta keep moving, my prince. We have a mission rememba?”

Sol pouted, “Fine.” He stretched.

Azhar put the prince down and continued to walk along the packs snakes. This time, it was mother Manama who led the rear snake. While Toftof, Sol, and Azhar walked along the front snake.

Once more, Cirin was confined to ride the pack snake. He looked to his broken arm. It seemed it would stay broken forever.

“Oi mouse.” Started Azhar.

Cirin reared his head to the man, only to find him reaching within his own longcoat. Finally, Azhar slipped a sealed letter from his coat pocket and paused to read the inscription on its front.

“Anodda letta fa ya.” He said briskly.

Cirin took the letter from his masters hands, then returned to the carriage with his back against the carriage wall.

The seal and the cover were the same as before. Though even without it being so, he could think of only one person who send him letters.

“Catherine…” he sighed under his breath. He slit open the letter.

It’s been awhile, Cirin,

Cirin squinted against the text as he noticed it was addressed only to him.

“Was dis da only letta?” asked Cirin.

Azhar scratched his head before he answered, “No, dere was anodda fa Sol.”

Cirin frowned and turned back to his spot. He continued reading.

You left three weeks ago, and yet have not responded since! Do you understand how worried I was? If not for our delightfully polite mutual companion, I would have assumed you were dead. And might I say you are far too young to be at risk of that.

Cirin formed a line with his mouth and lowered his brows. He never had a letter dote about him so.

Your absence of any written response aside, how have you been? Sol, despite his apt ability to reciprocate when asked to, lacked any further detail when he wrote, ‘Went to Exkmir, had lots of fun, Cirin got hurt but he’s better now!’.

You were injured? How so? Was it the Black Necks? I fear the most if it had anything to do with magic and by the way Sol described the ‘glowy light room’ I strongly suspect you ran into magic. Remember, my job is to act as your basis of knowledge on your journey. I am quite apt at discerning magic as well. You will do well to ask of me what you do not understand so ask away.

On to more not so pressing matters. If you are reading this, then you have most likely passed Gara. I hope you evaded the Tanin gang there well. Oh and do write back about those apples, I heard they are simply delightful! Anyways. If you have passed Gara, then your next stop shall be the Oasis of Gin. Unlike Ezmir or Gara, you may rest easy there. Even the plains leading to Gin are said to be safe from Sand flows, so you should find much comfort being able to rest on steady ground.

There are no gangs in Gin, not since the Basilisk Gang was wiped out, and the few noble houses located there are completely entwined with the affairs of traders. The Oasis of Gin is also an imperial city, so the protection of the prince is also assured. While you are there, try visiting the famous blue pool of Gin. It is said a water spirit who grants wishes resides within it, yet it only appears in the presence of those who lost their love. Strange isn’t it? But, maybe you are too young for that. Anyways, I have rambled on for far too long. Write me back. Or else I may way very well cross the desert myself to scold you.

With love,

Catherine.

Additional note, A.N for short,

Imperial Cities means slaves and slaves mean slavers. There is a particularly nasty slaving company that has been garnering fame as of late. They are called the Merid Dance Troupe. Do not be fooled. They are not a dance troupe. They are dangerous slavers. Just be on guard.

Again, with love,

Catherine.

Cirin refolded the paper and sighed. He glanced at one of the many satchels beside. He opened each one, until on the third satchel he found a roll of papyrus, a quill, and some ink. Spreading the papyrus across the floor, he rebounded back into a cross legged position, with his injured arm held steady to to the sling. Dipping the quill in ink, he struggled to consider what he’d write first. The oscillations of his pack snake made it even harder to concentrate.

He sat up once he thought of it then lowered his back as he wrote on the papyrus. He started with the words ‘I’m sorry.’

After what seemed an eternity of scribbling and scratching, Cirin held out two letters to Azhar.

Azhar had scarcely noticed the two, when he turned to Cirin’s call. One was the letter Catherine had sent, while the other was a completely new thing. The edges were crumpled and the seal was hastily slapped on.

Azhar held the latter letter right against the bridge of his nose.

“Ta Kay-ter-ynne?” He read mockingly.

“Ta Caterine.” Puffed Cirin.

Azhar lifted one brow in disbelief as he tossed his muzzle towards the boy, “Ya wrote, mouse?” He blurted, “It looks like a damned Tulek scribbled dese lettahs.”

“Oi!” snapped Cirin.

“Makes me curious what else dat Tulek wrote.” Said Azhar as he made to open the seal.

Cirin nearly leapt off the carriage as he swung his good arm at Azhar, “Stop.” He roared, reaching for his letter.

Azhar held the letter well a ways from the boy and finally shook his smiling head, “I won’t read it.” He assured the boy, “Ya seem so desperate, I wouldn’t dare embarrass ya by reading ya love letta.”

“Love letta?” said the boy coolly. He sat back as he tossed his eyes to the desert sky. It was clear and blue, it was the reflection of an ocean. “Ya should read her udda lettas. I dun know why but she always be worrying about me. As if at any moment I be doing something stupid.”

Cirin caught Azhar laughing then. “What?” he demanded of the man.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Said the man, “She be more of an olda sister it seems.”

“A sister?”

“Aye, I admit I hardly knew da girl, but da way you describe her reminds me of a doting older sibling.”

Cirin studied the man curiously and rested on the edge of the cariiage with his elbows crossed. He lowered his head on his arms.

“Do you have a sister, old mon?” asked the boy.

Azhar’s smile faded and he remained quiet for some time.

“I did. A long time ago.” He said slowly.

Cirin looked down. He found himself asking the inevitable question, “She died?”

“Aye.”

Cirin dared not prod any further. Azhar was a man who barely spoke about himself. He never even told Cirin so much as a story of his exploits.

The days swept by as the company of five continued through the desert. Slowly, the desert sands transformed around them as day turned to night, and night into day. The sands gave way to dry plains where large stretches of ankle high grass crept from the desolate earth. When nearly a week had passed they came across what Catherine had described in her letter. What they trekked through could no longer be described as a desert, rather it was an amalgamation of dry spurts of lands and yellow plains.

Here and there, various trees with little leaves grew in clusters among the grass sea. On the seventh day, the company did the unthinkable. They stopped.

Cirin was the first to ask, “What about da sandflows?”

“Ya see any sand here, mouse?” said Azhar,“Dese be da plains of Gin. From here till da oasis city we can rest at night.”

Manama had the packs snakes resting before sundown, while Toftof and Sol went out looking for dry wood.

Cirin sat by the would be fire as Azhar attempted to spark it to life.

“Now watch closely, mouse. I’ll have ya do dis next time around.”

Cirin nodded. With his eyes stern and still, he studied Azhar’s procedure. The procedure in question involved smashing two flint stones together until they produced a spark.

“three weeks.” Said Azhar amongst the various clanks of flint.

Cirin blinked, “What?” he asked as a small glimmer of flame sprang to life.

Azhar’s dark eyes glimmered beneath his tangled hair, “I said three weeks, mouse. Dat’s how long we will be in dese wilds for.” Azhar grunted as he threw a bundle of sticks into the hungry flame, “Until den, you will train wit ya left.”

Cirin face lit up as much as the much as the flame. Azhar held up a hand.

“ ‘I’ll lose to no one’ is what ya said. Do ya mean dose words, mouse? Or ya some liar like Toftof?”

Cirin nodded stoutly, “My words always move forwards, so I need not ever go back on dem.”

Azhar’s smile grew long and dimpled, “Good.” He said, “Starting tommora, I’m goinna have ya train harder dan ya eva trained before.”

“What about my arm?” trailed Cirin.

“I told ya didn’t I?” Spat Azhar. His voice grew quick and raptured, “Ya be training wit da one ya have left. I’ll have ya sweating so much dat da earth you walk on will become a swamp.”

Cirin swallowed hard as Azhar leaned towards him closer and closer.

Azhar tapped his index finger on Cirin’s forehead.

“I dun care if ya have to break every bone in ya body. I dun care if ya back breaks before ya blade does. Just dis once mouse, I’ll have ya break my first law.” Azhar leaned in even closer, prompting balls of icy sweat to roll down Cirin’s temple. They crested around Azhar’s heavy finger and landed in Cirin’s wide open eyes, making him wince but not blink. Never blink. It was Azhar’s presence that pilfered his attention. The man’s hand was hotter than the desert heat.

“If ya plan on neva losing,” hushed the man, “ya mustn’t eva give up.”

All at once, the man fell back and landed on his bum.

Cirin swung forwards. He was puffing for air the instant Azhar let go.

“Oi, Azhar we brought da logs.” Waved Toftof with his free hand, the other fully wrapped around a pile of sticks. Sol followed close behind, almost overwhelmed by the comparatively small portion of sticks he had gathered.

“And da snakes be sleeping now.” Entered Manama. She walked with her arms stretching well above her head, and her face ready to yawn.

The three of them sat around the fire Azhar built. Sol sat by Cirin side, while Toftof sat beside Azhar and Manama by Cirin’s other side.

“you two have a fight?” questioned Manama.

Cirin shook his head. He rose his ruby eyes to Azhar who looked visibly exhausted.

Cirin smiled, “We just decided on what ta do for da next three weeks.”