Piyar ran as far as she could. 

Which was far, but her meagre diet and the cold nevertheless brought her to her limits when they came out of the marshes. 

Fields now lay before them, called Suhuy Trastra in Dokian. 

Yorell could not give a good translation, but Ma’an had a feeling these were not normal meadows as soon as they set foot on them. 

The road was still there, but now that they could get off of it safely, they gladly did so. 

Near the crossing of the Forest Road and a smaller path, they dismounted and stretched their legs. 

Piyar instantly started grazing and drinking from pools of melted snow. 

They stood by and looked up to a big, metal road sign. It had all kinds of characters painted on it; it seemed like a standardised font.

‘We don’t need any signs, you think? We’d better get off this road as soon as possible,’ Yorell said. 

Ma’an nodded. ‘We still have some time, but not much, and I’m not willing to take the risk.’ 

They looked at Piyar. 

Yorell sighed. ‘I think she’s worked hard enough for us. It’s time we give her a break.’ 

In the distance, more grazing animals, including horses, were seen. There were a couple of collections of bushes and trees, but the land between was all long grasses and grains. 

They took Piyar’s saddle and other gear and threw it in a ditch by the road sign.

‘Goodbye, friend. Thank you for everything,’ Yorell whispered to her as he caressed her and kissed her snout. In response, she closed her eyes and let out a puff of warm breath, snorting ever so softly.

They waved her goodbye before walking into the west. Piyar walked slowly into the east and was not seen again by the two wizards.

The Suhuy Trastra provided more shelter than Ma’an had presumed. 

It was not all grass; several kinds of bushes and low trees brought cover. He could imagine the many flowers that would bloom here in a couple of months. But for now, everything was blue and green and wet and cold; all within a world of white patches of melting snow. And Ma’an would never see otherwise. 

The sun was still behind the thick blanket of clouds but gave off enough warmth for them to loosen their scarves as they walked. 

Yorell tried to make their path through the field as unclear as possible, making strange jumps, pushing the grass back in place, and occasionally backtracking. 

As they came further from the road, he stopped and walked at a leisurely pace. They managed to eat, drink, and talk a little.

‘Can you tell me what happened, Ma’an?’ Yorell was the first to ask.

‘I walked up to them and spoke to their leader, Kizhie, I think she called herself. They had seen us on the bridge, so I suppose they were behind us then and indeed passed us when we rested. They were looking for Yahre. Aya Yahre Cir. That is you, correct? I denied your existence, but they would not have it, and I was about to be arrested when I felt that maybe… maybe, even though it would have bought more time, I wanted to get back to you as soon as possible. So, I did what wizards do, and I caused some fear among them – I made sure not to harm anyone! – and gave myself some room to rush off. I’m sure no one was injured; I just needed some chaos. That’s all that happened,’ Ma’an said.

‘I… I should have never let you risk yourself like that, I was incredibly worried. But thank you for the help, I would not have made it without you.' Yorell sighed.

‘I could have done better. I was nervous and I caused unnecessary danger. Now we’re both looked for.’ Ma’an too sighed.

‘You did good, Ma’an. We were both in danger already, were we not?’ 

Ma’an blushed. ‘I suppose you’re right. We made it past them and now we are hopefully safe for a while unless something else crosses our path.’

‘Indeed. We will not come onto large roads again, unless it is to cross the Eastway, which lies about two days ahead. Oh! I was just about to say it. Let’s fill our bottles.’ 

The grass suddenly made place for barren dirt and stones as they came to a small creek. The water looked stagnant, but gradually made its way to the west. The water was extremely cold and was frozen at the edges, but it seemed clean and drinkable. 

They rested by that creek for a while, eating and drinking, and sitting by the water. There were a couple trees about, but their leaves were in the dirt or had been taken by the creek.

‘Shall we set up camp here? It’s already getting dark, and I feel like it’s been ages since I slept. I think we should be safe here,’ Yorell said when they sat looking at the darkening sky.

‘Yes, I think that ought to be good for us. It’s been a rough day. Perhaps you can tell me more about your name,’ Ma’an said.

‘Right! I’m sorry, I forgot to answer your question earlier. I go by multiple names. Yahre is one of them. It was my name in Kosoci, but I could not spell it in Doku, so I changed it to make things easier. I prefer to go by Yorell now. It feels more like me.’

‘Ah, that makes sense. Both sound quite beautiful.’

‘What about you? You seem like someone who is known by many names,’ Yorell said. 

Ma’an chuckled. ‘No… At least, not apart from my former titles and the occasional nickname. Ma’an is part of my identity, it reminds me of my hometown, so I like to take it with me wherever I go. A little reminder of good things from far away, both in space and time.’ 

Yorell smiled and closed his eyes. ‘What is your hometown called again?’

‘Enhemh.’

‘Enhemh, right… One can only imagine the most beautiful land where such a human comes from.’ 

Ma’an was caught off guard, only a small gasp of his breath was heard. ‘...It’s not very beautiful anymore, but it used to be.’ He smiled humbly.

‘I’m… I'm sorry to hear that. What happened to it?’

‘The land I was born in, often called Timehan, was annexed by a cult of wizards when I was very young. They left us alone for a while, but eventually they penetrated the forests and swamps and came to our homes. Trees were felled, lakes drained, creatures and spirits displaced. I moved far north for my study and never really came back. I don’t know the fate of that town, but in my memory, it’s doing okay, so that’s where I’ll keep it. Though my mind sometimes wanders off into the unknown.’

‘I suppose that’s a good way to deal with things that are behind. Would you tell me about your homeland? Being with someone from so far away is truly incredible.’

‘There will be lots of moments for stories, Yorell, don’t worry! But first, what about your hometown?’

‘Alright, alright, I need to be patient.’ Yorell laughed. ‘My town is a good month south. The west of Kosoci. It’s not very notable, though it is special to me, of course. It is called Binuoy. I spent most of my life there, my parents are probably still there, but I don’t feel that much for it anymore. My house in the Kahaylt is worth more to me for… whatever reason...’

‘Binuoy? I think I passed that town a while ago. I could swear I had some notes on it.' Ma'an started to look for his journal in his backpack. 

Yorell shivered at hearing that old name come from Ma’an’s mouth. ‘You did? What was it like?’

‘I walked through it, it was beautiful – that’s why I remember it. The trees were tall,’ he said.

‘The trees, yes. The trees were tall.’ Yorell sat up in curiosity and leaned over to see the pages Ma’an was turning.

‘I was not there for exceptionally long – I prefer to stay in the countryside – but the roads brought me there and it was a delightful sight. It is close to the border with the Dei Piao Kingdom, is it not? I remember being in a truly different land when I saw it.’ Ma’an’s gloved index finger was now tracing his writing on one of the pages. There was mostly red ink, but also some black, and blue notes were added later.

‘Yes, the stream nearby marks the border. Did you write about it? May I read it?’ 

Yorell’s sudden enthusiasm pleasantly surprised Ma’an. He put the journal on the man’s lap. ‘Of course…’ 

It took a while, but Yorell realised he was being messed with after a few moments. ‘I can’t read it—’ 

They both laughed.

‘Had you forgotten I speak a different language?’ Ma’an asked.

‘Well, you learned speaking with barely any exposure, so I thought you could do that with writing too!’

‘I suppose that makes sense. It’s not how that works, however. Writing is a little more complicated. I have seen so many different letters the past years that I cannot learn them all. But perhaps I should learn the script you know, so I can write to you if ever I need to.’

‘I could learn your letters too. You write them beautifully.’ 

Ma’an laughed again. ‘They are complicated. And I don’t think they’ll be of any use here, you think?’

‘Right. I’d also have to learn the language before I can write anything.’

‘Well, not per se. The script I write in is called Ziüëlli. It transcends spoken language and instead depicts nothing but meaning. It can be read in any language in Peijh. Dokian would do, too.’

‘So… you cannot pronounce these letters? You need to translate them immediately?’

‘Correct. It’s a great way to communicate across linguistic borders.’

‘I can imagine. But does your native language not have its own script?’

‘Oh, it does, but I do not often speak my native language.’ Ma’an leaned over to go to the next page of the journal, which was written with many small, curly strokes. ‘I do most of my thinking in Qulllië, the language of Iichun Zanë, where I studied. That is written in this script. Usually, though, it is just easier to write in Ziüëlli. I translate it to any language that I need. It is quite complicated, and my handwriting isn’t the best, so it helps keep things secret when I need to.’ 

Yorell looked silently at the pages for a while. The paper had yellowed at the edges and had clearly been wet a couple times, causing some of the ink to bleed. The leather cover had scratches and dents. 

He returned to the page about Binuoy. Its name was there at the top left corner in red ink. Lots of thin curls and round strokes. 

They looked somewhat familiar, he thought, but maybe that was because he knew what it meant. 

Next to the title was a drawing of a tree, made with black ink. A great poplar, like how they stood all over that town.

‘Would you teach me how to read it? Please?’ he requested.

Ma’an was surprised by how serious his voice sounded.

‘I will,’ he said, ‘but you need to be patient. I do not have a lot of ink left. This will be your first character.’ He reached into his bag again and took a pen and ink, then leaned over Yorell’s lap and wrote at the bottom of the page. ‘Watch closely…’ And he slowly put the pen on the paper and started a stroke. 

Yorell looked at it but ended up paying attention to nothing but the moving hand and warmth against his thigh. He was cold, he only now realised.

‘Pay attention, Yorell…!’ Ma’an said without even looking up.

‘S-Sorry!’ He returned his gaze to the paper, where there were now three strokes, all in a rounded shape. Below it, the pen hit the paper again, and it stayed there for a second before moving in a curl. The character used long strokes and occasional dots. The pen ended with a dot at the bottom.

‘Your turn,’ Ma’an said, and he gave the pen to him. 

Yorell looked at the drying ink.

‘You don’t have to do it right immediately. Perhaps I can get some ink later, so try as many times as you need.’ 

With a nod, Yorell dipped the pen into the ink and imitated the character as best as he could. His hand moved smoothly but hesitated sometimes. He finished with the same dot and looked at the result with a frown.

‘Perfect,’ Ma’an said.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, you did all the strokes correctly. It could be prettier, of course, but so can mine. I can read it, and that’s what matters.’

‘Now, what does it mean?’

‘I do not know what it means to you, and I do not know the word that would correspond in Dokian, but I call it yiämeïü, or onapha. It represents trees like this.’ Ma’an pointed to the drawing of the poplar.

‘Gatya…’ Yorell said.

‘Gatya? Of course…’ Ma’an mumbled.

‘You have one letter for that specific tree?’

‘Hmhm, it’s necessary when you have no pronunciation. Practice it a couple times. Try to remember and then let’s see if you still know it tomorrow, okay?’

‘Yes, please. Thank you for teaching me.’

‘No problem at all. You’ve taught me a lot too, after all.’