As they descended into Dawuda, the bustling port town on the banks of the Great River, the moon hung high in the sky. The narrow streets were still alive with activity despite the late hour, filled with the mingled scents of spices, fish, and unwashed bodies. Lanterns swayed in the breeze, casting flickering shadows across the faces of merchants closing up their stalls and travelers seeking lodging for the night.

Mairo and Rimi, exhausted from their arduous mountain crossing, stumbled along behind Kabir. Their muscles ached, and the thought of a warm mats was tantalizing.

They reached the docks just as the last boat was preparing to cast off, its decks crowded with passengers. Mairo's eyes lingered on the swaying gangplank, and she hesitated. "Shouldn't we wait until morning?" she murmured, her voice thick with exhaustion. "It has to be safer by daylight."

Rimi nodded in agreement, but Kabir shook his head emphatically.

"No," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Dawuda is no safe haven for strangers like yourselves. This place is a crossroads of kingdoms, cultures, and tongues. Eyes from every corner of the world settle here, some belonging to those who might be searching for you."

He gestured around them, and for the first time, the young women noticed the diverse crowd surrounding them. Merchants in rich silks rubbed shoulders with rough-looking sailors. Veiled women hurried past, while groups of men speaking in unfamiliar languages huddled in doorways, their gazes sharp and assessing.

"In Dawuda, you don't linger," Kabir continued. "You come, and you keep moving. Linger too long, and it's not just eyes that will notice you—it's whispers, questions, the wrong kind of attention."

Understanding the gravity of their situation, Mairo and Rimi reluctantly agreed. Kabir led them swiftly towards the docks, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. As they approached the boat, he engaged in a rapid, hushed conversation with one of the sailors in a language neither Mairo nor Rimi recognized. Gold changed hands, and the sailor nodded, gesturing for them to board quickly.

Kabir turned to the young women, his weathered face solemn in the moonlight. "This is where we part ways," he said. "The sailor will ensure you're not bothered during the crossing. Remember, keep to yourselves and trust no one until you're well away from here."

Mairo felt a lump in her throat. Despite the brevity of their acquaintance, Kabir had become a lifeline in their desperate flight. "Thank you," she whispered, "for everything."

Kabir's eyes softened. "May the winds be at your back and fortune smile upon your journey," he said, touching his hand to his heart in a gesture of blessing.

Mairo and Rimi shared one last grateful glance with Kabir before slipping onto the boat. They wedged themselves near the stern, finding shelter among crates of cargo. All around them, the boat buzzed with quiet activity—families huddling close, mothers rocking fretful children, men leaning against the railings, murmuring in low voices. Colorful headscarves dotted the crowd, catching the dim light, while shadows played across faces filled with stories they would never share.

As the boat cast off, slipping silently into the current of the Great River, Mairo and Rimi huddled closer together. They kept their heads down and their voices low, acutely aware of Kabir's warning. The gentle lapping of water against the hull and the soft murmur of voices around them created a dreamlike atmosphere.

Mairo felt Rimi's hand slip into hers, the grip tighter than usual. She glanced at her friend, catching a flicker of fear in her eyes. "It's going to be all right," Rimi whispered, her voice barely audible over the murmur of the river. But there was a tremor in her words, as if she was trying to convince herself as much as Mairo. Despite her own anxiety, Mairo squeezed back, offering a silent promise.

As Dawuda faded into the distance behind them, Mairo allowed herself a small moment of relief. They had made it this far and it felt like a miracle.

The boat glided through the dark waters, Mairo's eyes scanning the unfamiliar banks. The creaking timbers and soft murmurs around her created a rhythmic lull, broken now and then by whispered conversations. She had never been on a boat before, and the subtle, constant sway beneath her feet made her feel as if the ground itself was unsteady, like the moment before a storm.

In the dim light of dawn, Mairo's ears pricked up at the sound of a language that bore some resemblance to her own. Two men, their faces weathered by sun and wind, were conversing in low tones nearby. Straining to understand, she caught fragments of their discussion. "Nri kingdom," one said, his voice tinged with both excitement and apprehension. "Ado-Nri people," the other replied, nodding sagely.

Mairo's heart quickened. She had heard whispers of the Nri kingdom in traders' tales - a land so different from her desert home that it seemed almost mythical. The Ado-Nri, with their strange customs and incomprehensible language, had always been figures of mystery and sometimes fear in the stories she had grown up with.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting a golden sheen on the river's surface, Rimi's head drooped onto Mairo's shoulder, her breath slow and steady, though her brow was still furrowed with unease. Even in sleep, she seemed restless, fingers twitching occasionally as if still grasping for a sense of security. Mairo gently adjusted her position, trying to give Rimi the comfort she herself desperately sought, careful not to wake her.

Would the Nri kingdom welcome them? Or would they find themselves strangers in yet another hostile land? Mairo's imagination painted pictures of dense rainforests, so vast and lush that they made the occasional oasis of her homeland seem like mere puddles in comparison. She had heard tales of trees taller than minarets, their canopies blocking out the sun, and of vines so thick a man could climb them like rope. The thought both thrilled and terrified her.

As the boat sailed on, the landscape gradually began to change. The sparse, scrubby vegetation of the riverbanks gave way to increasingly lush greenery. Mairo watched in awe as unfamiliar birds with brilliant plumage darted between the trees, their calls unlike anything she had heard before.

Hours slipped by as the sun climbed and began its slow descent, the boat gliding through the steady current. By the time twilight arrived, a chorus of unseen insects filling the warm air, Mairo's thoughts had drifted far from the boat. She was back in Garin Gabas, the bustling markets and echoing call to prayer pulling at her heart. A solitary tear traced its way down her cheek as memories flooded her mind.

She thought of her mother, always stoic and reserved, but whose eyes would now be filled with unspoken tears and worry. In her mind's eye, she saw her father, the respected Waziri, his proud shoulders now likely bowed with the weight of his daughter's disappearance. And her uncle, the Emir - Mairo's heart clenched with a complex mix of love, anger, and disappointment. His decision to give her hand in marriage to their enemy empire, without so much as consulting her, had set this whole journey in motion.

Mairo tried to stay awake, quietly guarding Rimi. Just weeks ago, their roles were reversed, with Rimi standing watch. Despite her fears, a flicker of excitement stirred—this was a new life, one they had chosen.

As the night deepened, the boat's gentle rocking and the soft breaths of fellow passengers lulled Mairo into drowsiness. Just before sleep claimed her, she whispered a silent prayer for safety, acceptance, and strength in the unknown lands ahead.

The boat glided on, carrying Mairo and Rimi closer to their destiny in the mysterious Nri kingdom, where desert met rainforest and new beginnings awaited.

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