The two continued the last bit of walking in their new clothes. 

Ma’an was fascinated by the amount of people there, even if he did not particularly like it. Most people indeed wore what they wore, but there were occasionally other dresses to be seen. Foreigners, or workers, he guessed. 

Fortunately, they soon found a hotel in the big streets, and they had no trouble getting a room. 

Shoes and coats were to be taken off inside buildings, leaving them with bare shoulders. Ma’an did not often expose this much skin – in Iichun Zanë this was not common at all –, but it was warm enough inside for it to be comfortable. 

The rooms were placed in a circle around a common hall, as was typical of Dokian homes. The hotel had two floors, the upper one was no more than a vide with ladders leading down to the common room. 

In the common room, there were seats on the ground, low tables, heaters, blankets, and – most importantly for them – food. The floors were carpeted and the walls were covered with tapestries. All were painted in rather monotone colours, but the patterns were quite intricate. They seemed to display historical events such as battles and inaugurations. 

Ma’an and Yorell spent the evening in the common room, for there was no heating in the bedrooms. They sat there in the corner and talked all evening while eating fried kelp, bean soup, and roasted seeds with sea fruits. 

Ma’an looked at Yorell in the light of the tiffany lamp beside them. He wore his hair down, it almost reached the floor, and had put it over one shoulder. It had a red glow in the dim lighting. 

He had taken the sleeves off his top and on his arm, the red and purple wounds were now clearly visible. 

His blue eyes were tired, but at ease. He took a hand of berries and leaned back in his seat. ‘What are you thinking about?’ he suddenly said. 

Ma’an felt himself heat up. ‘I…I’m just happy to be here with you. Things could have ended very differently,’ he said. 

Yorell smiled sadly. ‘I put you in danger. I’m sorry. I should have never brought this upon you.’

‘But we’re here, right? And we’re doing alright. I knew from the start something was driving you away. Granted – I did not know it was this close by, but I was not that surprised.’

‘Are you sure you don't want me to leave?’

Ma’an chuckled in disbelief. ‘What? No, I do not. Why would I want to give up my only company? You rekindled my motivation to actually finish this journey. I’m… very grateful for you.’ He took Yorell’s hand and pressed it against his lips. 

Yorell opened his mouth but no words would come out. His eyes glittered. ‘I’m grateful for you too. I would have never… gotten out of this without you. And I still haven't escaped, of course, but we’ve come quite far already.’

‘I reckon we’ll lose them soon. How will we… go further from here? Will we follow the coast?’

‘Well, there is a train here in Daumat. I don't know whether it is too risky or not, but if we get on it we will have a great advantage. It goes all the way to an old shrine in the northernmost town of the Yaut Sea, so we could get really far with it.’

‘There are trains here!? Why didn't you tell me?’ Ma’an laughed, but he quickly quieted down when he realised he was loud and others in the room looked at them.

‘Only one,’ Yorell said, ‘and it doesn't go very often. Sorry, I thought it would have been too dangerous. It’s a busy place and if anyone knows we’re here they will certainly keep an eye on the station.’

‘That’s probably true. We should be careful in any case. But I think we should take the risk. I’ll be honest, I’ve seen enough of Doku for now.’

And so, the two planned to get tickets and supplies not the next day but the day after, so they could leave as soon as possible. 

The idea of staying in Daumat for longer was proposed, but neither wanted to. They decided to sleep in and spend the whole day in their hotel room, resting. They needed it after their injuries and strain. 

In their room there were three beds, on one of which they had thrown their luggage. The beds were very low, but did not quite lay on the floor. The bedding was thick and soft, and there were many round pillows. 

Underneath the one window stood a narrow desk with a stool. On it lay a copper writing box, a glass with several brushes in it, and multiple containers of dark red ink. 

While Ma’an spent most of the day sleeping under the thick covers, Yorell tried to remember the character for poplar, or onapha, as Ma’an had called it. He had gotten out his own notebook for the first time, and carefully placed the lines on the untouched paper. Over and over again.

‘You remembered,’ Ma’an said with a sleepy voice. He had propped himself up and peeked at the paper.

‘Is it correct?’ Yorell asked, and he showed him the page better.

‘Yes, it’s perfect.’ 

Yorell’s eyes lit up. ‘Really? I didn't think I remembered correctly. We have plenty of ink now, so you can write again, if you wish.’

‘Oh, I’ll have to teach you some more, then.’ Ma’an took his own notebook and they spent most of the afternoon talking about language and practicing characters. 

It was a nice change to not be out in the open all alone. Here it was warm, and out the window below were people swarming in the street. Ma’an enjoyed looking at all their faces and clothing. Their skin was generally lighter than his own, but there were several people that looked more like him. 

He did not like the city, but being here, in a small room with Yorell, just looking out from behind the glass up high…

He felt safe. 

・・・

The day after, however, they needed to get out. 

Yorell was more comfortable with the sprawling city, but there was no way they were splitting up again after what happened in the hills. The risk of one of them getting in trouble was too high. So they went into town together. 

They needed to buy food and new clothing. Their Dokian dress was fine for now, but this would most likely be their last stay in the world of industrialised trade, and so this was the place to find warm enough clothing for the arctic. 

Ma’an doubted this would be the last society they would come across, and people in the north would hopefully have more suitable clothing, but he could not be sure that they were friendly to them, or at least willing to sell any goods. They thus went about looking for stores. 

They stayed in the busy streets in an attempt to blend in. Yorell had put on a headscarf because his face would be most recognisable. Ma’an had been seen, but the Kosocians most likely did not recognise him well enough. 

They soon found several clothing stores, where they looked through the thick winter coats. 

Yorell had found out the train to the north would depart the day after, very early in the morning. He read it on pamphlets in the main boulevard. So today they were to get tickets. According to the same pamphlets, tickets were to be bought in one of the kiosks by the harbour, which was not so far away. And so they did just that. 

When they were standing in line, Ma’an’s gaze fell on someone walking by. They looked… familiar. 

And his heart sank. 

That was Yiü, one of his former colleagues, standing by the wall of the building, looking out over the street from under a hood. 

Ma’an slowly switched places with Yorell so he was out of sight and held onto his hand. 

Yorell leaned in slightly. ‘What’s the matter?’ he whispered.

‘They’re here…’ Ma’an muttered. His knees were shaking and his eyes shot all over the place. 

The Order, in Miranitia… That could only mean one thing: he had been found. And now he was going to be killed. He felt like his chest was going to burst and his world fell apart. Of course this had lingered in his mind. Being followed had always been a realistic scenario. Yet it had felt so far away. 

But Ma’an was not invincible, and now, for the first time since he left his homeland, he was in immediate danger again. Not some natural phenomenon or local peoples protecting themselves against trespassers, but a threat that had him as a sole target and would not be stopped by borders.

Yorell took a scarf out of his shoulder bag and wrapped it around Ma’an’s head to obscure his face. ‘You’re going to be okay,’ Yorell said, but he was clearly startled as well.

Too lost in his thoughts, Ma'an couldn't even react.

The line suddenly went incredibly slow. Ma’an had the urge to run away, but he was kept frozen in place by the arm around his shoulders.

‘Stay calm. Pretend you don’t see them,’ Yorell said. 

He took a deep breath and straightened his posture, hoping the small portion of the line in front of them would pass quickly. Ma’an kept peeking up at the person by the wall, and yet tried to avoid any sort of contact. He was afraid Yiü would see his fear or recognise his posture. 

But nothing happened. 

In fact, Yiü ended up walking off before they had even bought tickets. 

‘... We’ll have to come up with a plan, and quickly,’ was the first thing Ma’an dared to say again. 

Yorell agreed with a slow nod. 

With tickets soon acquired, Yorell held him close as they walked back to the hotel.