Túrien was, of course, delighted by my news and immediately set about organising transport for me. Though I protested, I was glad she did, because I would have had no idea how to set about doing something like this myself.

This was where Túrien seemed to come into her own. Relations and communication between our two countries, she'd once explained to me, and representing one when in the other. These were her main responsibilities as Ambassador, which was why I complained so little when she rushed here and there, seeing contacts and poring over maps and whatever an Ambassador usually did. It was her job, after all, as well as Ramyahani.

And she was good at it too.

Only three days after I'd told her of my intentions, when I was still rushing around trying to complete unfinished orders and endeavouring to satisfy indignant customers (take the example of Lady Rewan, for example. I found it quite hypocritical, really, how she spluttered and complained about my leaving for a good ten minutes while I stood there, calm on the surface, while seething to myself inside - five years ago you wouldn't even look twice at me, yet now you can't bear my absence? How many clothes does a woman of your status need anyway?!), she'd already found a young family, intent on making a new life, with room to spare in their cart. 

"It would be much easier if I could just lend you a horse," Túrien confided to me as we went to meet them, "And much quicker. But learning to ride would take longer than the actual journey - even by cart - that it's really not worth it, for now. Anyway, meet Amira. Her family will travel with you all the way to Minas Tirith with you - that's lucky, because most people only go as far as Kazabhâd and it's such a nuisance trying to arrange new transport with Yusannah's idiotic Ambassador. Oh, are you two already aquainted?" - because both Amira and I had given an exclamation of delight upon seeing each other.

"Indeed, Lady Jeddah has been the friend of my youngest sister for as long as I can remember."

"I'm not a lady," I laughed, while secretly rather proud. Amira had indeed been one of the girls that I remembered being very kind to me as a child and allowing Thekla and I to play with her collection of painted beads - and that I had helped arrange garlands of greenery with at Thekla's wedding. She was around thirty years old, with Thekla's shining brown waves of hair hidden under her charcoal-grey shawl and friendly laugh.

She introduced me to her husband, Qufar, who was one of the Mûmakil keepers by trade and was finding it very difficult to be seperated from his charges. He was as open and kind as his wife, telling me about their twin sons and baby daughter and how they were all so excited to be going on an adventure. When I asked where they were, he shrugged, saying the boys often took their sister to the gardens to play a baby princess that they had to rescue from all kinds of imaginary monsters - and he laughed, completely confident they would return in time for supper. 

Qufar and Amira were so friendly to me, they reminded me almost painfully of Thekla - but this was good, they would be easier to get along with than a family of strangers, and I was happy my companions for the two-week long journey were already familiar.

•●•●•●•

The day of our departure, Miarka was ecstatic, even more excited than usual. She'd spent the past week cooking for me, mostly dry, flat breads that would keep on the long journey - but with a "borrowed" embroidery needle, she spent hours drawing flowers and poking patterns into the uncooked dough, before baking. I'd helped her too, when I wasn't meeting Amira to finalise details or delivering hastily finished orders. It was a peaceful activity, and quite likely the last thing I would do in the company of my sister for a long time.

She wrapped the breads in some sacking material and tucked several bushels of rosemary under the folds. This gesture of kindness nearly moved me to tears, but I set aside my moment of weakness for later.

Apart from the pack of bread, I had not much to stuff into the bundle I'd fashioned out of some scraps, to hold all I'd need. I had some clothes, my hugely varied collection of fine bone needles, a bag of embroidery silks - and my good purple shawl.

Miarka's excitement was infectious - I was beginning to forget my doubts and look forward to this adventure too. Grandmother, to her credit, firmly did not cry either - though she seemed near it all morning, giving me advice

Then the time came. I refused Qufar's offer of help and clambered onto the cart myself, the rough wood cushioned by all the items my companions were bringing - I added my pitiful little bundle to the pile too. Túrien had recommended we use a horse to pull the cart, and it was a placid beast, kicking flies off its legs and shaking its mane with a rather lazy expression.

The cart jerked forward- we were off!

Miarka chased the cart as far as her spindly little legs could bear, waving, and when she was finally exhausted, she resorted to jumping around like a mad person, waving both hands and yelling. I could see Grandmother still, alternately waving a huge white handkerchief at the disappearing cart and using it to wipe her eyes.

I took one last look at my hometown.

I was born there and had lived there my whole life. I knew nearly everybody there - the best hiding places in the bustling marketplace, the places where you could get the best bargains when trying to find food. I knew every shortcut through the alleys that divided the small sandstone houses - knew every irregularity in the wild, flowing, life-giving river Na'Man ab Jubayr - knew where to sit under the great aqueducts to provide the most shadow - knew every blooming flower and tall, waxy, coconut trees in the magnificent gardens. I knew the way through the great sandstone maze that led to the magnificent Mûmakil herd, every roar and trumpet made by those beasts - everything that made Harmindon what it was.

Ever since I was a child, I imagined new places - I always took this amazing, lively city for granted, and most of my adolescent life I'd been unable to appreciate it, given my circumstances. But now it was my home no longer.

Then the cart suddenly turned a corner into the cliff-faced corridors of stone - and the view was gone.

•●•●•●•

The cart was an old thing and smelled faintly of coconuts. Amira told me they'd bought it from an aging fruit seller who had no need for it. Amira told me many things on the long, shaky journey across the wide, open plains, but I only half listened to most of it.

I'd only ever seen the outside of the maze twice, both times when I was too young to appreciate the strange, sparse beauty of the place. There was nowhere to offer protection from the sun, so Qufar put on his head wrap and Amira and I pulled our shawls more tightly over our faces. I created a makeshift tent in the back for the children, using the piles of water-skins and furniture and draping them with blankets. The boys and their little sister had great fun in their tiny, shady cave.

Qufar told us the way.

"Lady Túrien gave me specific instructions to follow the exact directions she told me, otherwise we'd get lost. We're heading north-west for nine days, in an around, until we reach Kazabhâd. Then we will go north for around two days until we reach the crossing of the river Poros - then north-east until we reach the great river, the Anduin - we follow that up-river until we reach the great city of Osgiliath. We will be in sight of the White City then. The whole journey will take - if we hurry - around two weeks."

"I've never seen a river bigger that Na'Man ab Jubayr," I confided, unable to imagine any expanse of water greater than the baths at Harmindon. These were great natural pools cut into the slope of a hill by the course of the river, fed by the spring itself. I'd learned to swim - well, float - there, the deepest pool reaching up to about my shoulders - though they weren't large enough to properly swim. I'd always enjoyed the sensation of being in the water, though - fully submerging myself, holding my breath, and feeling my hot skin cool in the calm water. I tried to think how much bigger these rivers would be.

"I've seen them," Qufar told me, "I was in the White City nearly a year ago, sorting out a home for my family." He smiled over his shoulder to where Amira was playing some kind of card game with the boys, while their little sister looked on in astonishment, gurgling away to herself in her own baby language.

"I could not believe the vastness of the river Poros, that made Na'Man ab Jubayr seem like a tiny spring - then, when I was marginally used to it, I reached the great Anduin. It made the river Poros seem like a tiny spring. It's really no wonder that everything is so green there."

We travelled for several hours before the children started complaining they were hungry. I opened my pack of bread - reminding me of my cheeky little sister, but I was not homesick yet - and they gasped in delight when they saw the patterns and pictures stamped into the surface. I sprinkled them with salt, and we made a meal of the flat, crusty breads that Miarka had so lovingly baked.

•●•●•●•

And so the days went by.

It got very monotonous, I'll admit. There were days when I could barely choke down that dreadful flat bread - the taste of which was rapidly deteriorating - and days where I could not bear to listen to the incessant chatter of the two mischievous boys - days where I felt like digging my head under my bundle of clothes to escape the glaring sun.

But at night, it was different. We halted the cart, and set up a tent for the family - I hadn't thought of sleeping arrangements so I piled up some bundles of blankets and arranged myself under the night sky. As uncomfortable as it sounds, it was actually not so bad - more comfortable than the rough cushions that had been my bed for five years straight. Though the nights were cold, I was warm in my blankets next to our slowly dying campfire. And there were stars to look at.

I had never slept out of doors before, and I'd never seen such a vast, brilliant expanse of stars. If I couldn't sleep, I just watched them, perfectly content to let the beauty of the night sky lull me to sleep.

"Jeddah, are you awake?"

This was Aro, the youngest of the twins. Though I usually minded the little baby girl while Amira played with the boys, he was the one of the three children that properly took a shine to me (how, I have no idea).

"Listen here, meymûn, you should be asleep. There's a long day of travel tomorrow."

Aro was having none of this, flopping spreadeagled onto my pile of blankets. "Every day is a long day of travel. Tell me a story, Jeddah. I can't sleep."

"You can't sleep because you are not tucked up in the tent with the others, silly. Besides, I've told you all the stories I can think of."

"That's something Akë would say. Please tell me a story, then I promise I will go straight back to the tent." Aro clasped my hand, eyes round and pleading. I sighed.

"Have I ever told you the story of the time my sister fell into a tub of dye and turned completely blue for a day?"

Aro giggled with delight and snuggled down next to me. I told him the story of that time, and he laughed so much I had to clap a hand over his mouth hurriedly and warn him that if he was any louder he'd wake his parents. He was quiet enough after that, and when the story was over - bless the boy -he went straight back to the tent as promised, yawning.

I however still could not sleep and now I was thinking of Miarka.

Funnily enough though, I was not as homesick or sad about leaving them as I thought I would be. I remembered all our games and antics with fond remembrance, instead of sadness - and I knew that though I would miss her, I would see her again someday.

This thought soothed me, and I fell back asleep.

•●•●•●•