Sol's village is small, but not quiet as one would expect. People are up and about despite the early morning, focused on their tasks. A woman sets fresh loaves of bread on a window sill, while her neighbor kneels in a garden, filling a basket with ripe eggplants. The day's chores have already begun for the villagers. As we walk through the village, I am elated to see more of life outside of Herald.

Cottages similar to Sol's dot a narrow circular path three rows deep, encircling a well from which to draw water. The houses look sturdy enough, being made of wood and some mud-colored brick, complete with a shingled roof. Drifting among the structures are dozens of people. I'm close enough to hear their voices as they call to one another, but too far to make out what they're saying.

I'm baffled at the difference between this group of people and the horde of Outlanders that invaded Herald. I had nightmares of savage Outlanders coming after me, searching the woods with knives and pitchforks. A warrant for death. But the people before me carry packs made of an animal's hide as they mill about.

Dispersed intermittently throughout the village are gardens well-tended. Unlike the flowerbeds in front of the houses in Herald, Outlanders grow tomatoes and cucumbers on their front lawn out of necessity. A chicken follows us down the street, pecking at the dust our feet kick up. Aside from the hen, the livestock here is small and few. Only a few families have sheep or pigs in their backyard. Their entire culture seems unrefined and unsophisticated, from makeshift houses to unpaved streets, but their hair seems washed and as far as I can smell, they bathe.

The primitivity is fascinating. Without the complexities of technology or economy, it's like I've time-traveled back to the distant past, before Herald was the industrialized giant it is today.

It takes a moment before heads turn and people stop in their conversations, pausing only long enough to begin whispering amongst one another. Tasks are abandoned as we stride through the village, and I know my presence is the reason. My neck and face flush scarlet and I shrink under their scrutiny. I want to become invisible, or to blend in so I become unnoticed. I feel every eye piercing me, a hot iron brand on every part of my body. I don't return their stares, instead turning my eyes to the ground, but Sol pats my arm, whispering to me.

"Don't let anyone make you feel less than human."

I have never liked attention. Not the kind Markee thrives in, the all-eyes-on-me type. I've always preferred the one-on-one kind, attention down to an individual level. An interpersonal understanding. Something that means something other than blindsided popularity.

Down the path, a short, stocky man hauling water waves us down. My first instinct is to duck behind Sol, hiding from his curious eyes like a child. His attention reminds me that I do not belong here. Instead, I inspect the dirt path beneath my feet.

"So this is what all the commotion last evening was about," the man says, chuckling. The sound of his laughter makes me nervous. His approaching footsteps stop right in front of us. "Not many of you around here these days."

"For good reason," Sol says. "It is dangerous for her people outside of their wall."

"Surviving out here is not easy, especially for someone like you," the man says, not unkindly. He sets the pail of water down, some of it spilling into my vision. "Do you have a name?"

At this, my eyes leave the ground. The man is older than me, probably around Sol's age, with an angular face and a weathered smile. Sol nudges me, passing silent encouragement.

"I'm Sophie." My voice is meeker than I intend it to be. Not wanting to appear a weak lamb in the den of wolves, I continue stronger, "It's nice to meet you."

The man extends his hand and grasps my wrist in a strange sort of handshake. "The pleasure is all mine. I am Rik." He turns so Sol, motioning to our packs. "Where are you headed so early?"

When Sol tells him of our destination, surprise lights his features. "I never thought you would return there," he says. I freeze. What reason would Sol have to not return to the Summus' village?

"Calm down, Rik, you're scaring the girl." Sol puts her hand on my shoulder, a comforting weight. "I just have not had a reason to make the journey in quite some time."

"Of course," Rik says, picking up the water container once again. "Better get going. Say hello to your nephew for me. He owes me a rabbit." He nods to me with a friendly grin. "I'll save a foot for you." I grimace.

With a chuckle, he lumbers back the way we came and a bit of my unease dissolves with his departure.

"What would I do with a rabbit's foot?" I ask aloud.

Sol's soft face breaks with an amused grin. "He wishes you good luck." I stare after Rik's retreating form, one more Outlander to surprise me with kindness.

Sol is quick to return to the task at hand. "We must get moving, or we will not make it for sundown."

Eager as I am, she doesn't have to tell me twice. With one look back at the friendly little village I've come to admire, we march west.

Lucky for me, we take a foot-worn path through the trees. The route from Sol's village to the Summus' settlement mustn't be one so ill-used. The dirt is hard-packed from decades of traffic and the greenery on either side doesn't threaten to take over. It's almost nice, unlike my traipse through the Outlands yesterday, forging my own path through bushes and undergrowth with no direction.

At first, I have no trouble keeping up with Sol's steady gait. But after the first few miles, I begin to notice myself falling behind. I guess I didn't have much opportunity to exercise in Herald. Sol notices my gradually decreasing speed and stops, briefly looking to the sky. "We cannot rest for too long, but sit. Have a drink."

I lean against the rough bark of a tree and eagerly reach for my pack, removing and uncapping my canteen. Before I even put the spout to my lips, Sol stops me with a gentle hand on my wrist.

"Slowly, and just a bit," she advises. "You will need to save some for later."

I get the idea, but I also want to down the entire container.

So I only drink a little, just enough to wet my tongue. I want more, but Sol says the journey will take all day.

We don't sit much longer, maybe two minutes, but it's enough to put some vigor back in my stride. After returning my canteen to my pack, we continue along the path, walking in comfortable silence. I get the feeling Sol is like me; she's a listener. We prefer to stand on the sidelines and observe, to listen to others talk and understand what's not being said. We don't feel the need to fill silence with useless chatter. I am currently content with listening to the wind in the trees, and the early-morning birdsong in the canopy above us. Most importantly, the quiet lets me think.

I think about all sorts of things. What is happening to Markee right now? Is she hurt? Or being held prisoner? I think of Mom and Dad back at home in Herald, probably overwrought and frantic. Miles and his border patrol squadron cleaning up the mess around the wall. What will Vera think when I don't show up at her market booth today? Will anyone tell her I'm missing? And the council...

How will the council explain the Breach? Markee's abduction? My disappearance? I already know that they won't send anyone to search for us, but what's to stop this from happening again?

Then I remember what Rik said, about Sol not going back to Summus Aspen's village. She has a nephew there; why wouldn't she want to spend time with her relatives more often?

Though she's taking me there now, the reason she's been staying away makes me apprehensive. So I decide to break the silence.

"When did you last visit the Summus' village?" I ask nervously.

Sol's steps never falter, no hint of surprise in her features. Her silence continues for a moment, and I wait patiently.

"It's been almost four years since we left there," she replies. "Hazel had just turned five years old."

I'm not sure what I expected, but I can't keep the image of a five-year-old Hazel wandering down this dusty path from entering my head, tiny feet and tawny hair included. So young to make this journey. And never once returned. Neither has her mother, and I don't feel comfortable asking why, or else I'd be prying, but I would like to know what to expect.

"What's it like there?" I ask. "Is it anything like your village?"

"Not at all," she scoffs. "Everything there tries to be bigger. More than necessary. Pretentious and hollow."

I chuckle at the idea of a near-medieval hut and no indoor plumbing being ostentatious.

"Really." She raises her eyebrows. "You'll see what I mean."

We continue on our westward march. I can almost feel the distance grow between me and the walls of Herald with every step. I've gotten a lot more comfortable being away from home and everything familiar. Not like I have an option, after coming this far.

When the sun is high in the sky, and we both are wiping away beads of sweat from our brows, we take a break. We sit in the shade of an oak tree just off the path and dive into our lunch rations. I immediately go for the flat bread Sol packed for me. The crust is coarse, but the inside is blessedly soft. I remember Sol's lecture on rationing the water, so I save half the loaf, but devour the nuts and berries. I don't even touch the dried meat, leery of what animal it could have been.

When we start walking again, it feels like it's gotten even hotter with the sun right over our heads. Without a cloud in the sky, the sun beats down on us, no shade in the middle of the path where we walk. Sol pauses, and I pull up beside her, watching her pull something out of her bag. When she places a cloth around my neck, I want to swat her away. It's already hot enough! I open my mouth to protest, but she beats me to it with an explanation.

"You will wear this, or else the sun will burn you."

Four summers ago, on a day as hot as this, Markee and I decided we would accompany Miles and Rhett to the canals to fish. Of course, Markee's too cool to bait a hook, and I was never exactly the sportsman type, so we laid out on the bank while the boys caught dinner. Hours later, we left as red as Old Man Wyatt's barn. Markee was so angry—her freckles seemed to triple in number. I spent the next two weeks nursing blisters and peeling skin.

I am quick to thank Sol. I didn't even think of the back of my neck being so exposed. Even though I'm sweating bullets, I'd rather suffer in sweat than another blistering sunburn.

The day endures, and the sun, ever blazing, sinks closer to the western horizon.

"Not much longer now," Sol tells me. We've been traveling at a good pace, judging by my sore calves and breathlessness. I'm eager to reach our destination, not only for a reprieve from trudging along this infernal dirt pathway, but because I'll hopefully be close to Markee. If Sol's right about Summus Aspen wanting something from Markee, we shouldn't have to look far. Wherever the Summus is, Markee will be.

She has to be.

Gradually, the dirt path widens into a dirt road, and the trees surrounding us become sparse. Thinking we must be getting close, my feet move a little faster. Each footfall brings me closer to Markee. I briefly wonder if Sol will help us find the way home after all is said and done.

We round a bend in the route and a brick building comes into view. Then two more. Soon enough, standing in front of us is a sprawling village. Sol's village is practically an outpost compared to this town. Her home could be swallowed twice by how far this compound stretches.

"Welcome to Keir," Sol says, taking my hand and giving it a squeeze. I squeeze back, thankful for the support, and giving some back. Her motive for leaving remained here. We both have a reason to be brave.