The rocks around gave way to more yellow, more grass, jutting up from the ground, had been much less of them, and much more of the flattened savannah of yellow around. The hills grew more uneven, and the ground became harder, patched in dotted stones.
Arlen could feel his feet ache by the hour, and it had taken a few of those since they left camp after he awoke before the three of them could finally hear the soft noise of a current.
Arlen felt relieved inside, hearing the closeness to the town he'd seen from afar and Senna talking about it, slowed him even more. Why continue tiring himself if around the corner was guaranteed respite?
"Arlen," Vocht announced, turning back, "there's something we should tell you before we head into Dazeen."
Arlen sensed something was off from that slow tone, trying to cushion whatever was to come. He said nothing, simply stared into Vocht's dark eyes in the darker night, and behind him, stood Senna, halting and retreating to crossed arms on leathered chest.
"When I arrived here," Vocht resumed, implying they'd already made it to the town. "Well, this place isn't ordinary, it's a more close-knit area, where it's settled, it's not common for travelers to wander into this place unless they are determined to."
"Where's this going, Vocht?" Arlen asked, noticing Vocht prolonging his point.
"These people, also Senna's family, the town itself, they don't take kindly to outsiders, simple as that. If you are useless, don't think it'll be as easy as waltzing right in."
"What are you saying?" Arlen returned. "How does their economy hold up if they don't insist on the current of others?"
"Economy?" Senna tilted her head, unsure of the word.
"The system of coin and trade," Vocht turned slightly, gesturing with his hand to her.
"Oh," she said, "we hunt, and fish, we've got an anchor to a self-sustaining area."
"It's also the reason Prince Kerious wants this land, the reason he's been sending soldiers and knights to scare off these people from their land for some coin," Vocht played off her words.
"Then why didn't he take it, a village shouldn't be a hindrance to a prince," Arlen blurted out quickly. Looking down immediately, regretting his words after the expression Senna gave off, disgusted, and surprised.
"Yeah," she muttered, "I guess that's the way of a Mazandrian high-blood, isn't it?"
"I didn't mean any of that," Arlen responded softly. "I only meant that as in if he wanted to, he could have taken the village with ease, at least in Mazandrian terms, not that I agree with any of that stuff."
The three stood a moment in silence, the wind blew in between each of them, smacking against the few spiked rocks around them, and through the grass. And Arlen began hearing distant voices, people.
"Look," Arlen continued. "I am grateful for what you did, my words don't mean shit in this place, you guys are hosting me and I'm just blurting out ramblings of why a prince would try so hard based on what you said, just for him to abide by simple barbaric things, just to not go all the way."
"What exactly are you saying then, Mazandrian!" Senna shouted.
"I've only heard the wrong things about the prince of this land, stories that's all," Arlen told her. "Don't know if it was all propaganda or truth, but I heard what I heard, and if your prince does only as you say he does, then something isn't right."
Senna stared into his eyes for a prolonged moment of silence; Vocht, thinking to himself, stared at his feet, before she averted her gaze.
"As long as you don't think as you say," Senna finished off before briskly walking forward, towards the voices. Leaving him and Vocht in the dark.
Arlen shrugged his shoulders towards Vocht, feeling a tad bit guilty.
"I picked up on it too," Vocht finally said, breaking the silence. "We 'highbloods' pick up on it too."
"I'm not a-" Arlen began the sentence before Vocht cut him off.
"Not a noble, I get it. Doesn't mean you weren't one. Not without those rags." And he glared down at Arlen's white button tunic tucked beneath his darker trousers. A belt strapped the bottom half of metallic thin plates around the upper torso and shoulders, woven with holes into the tunic, and a thicker layer of leather beneath it all, hugging Arlen's torso. Ripped in areas and dirtied with soil.
"Then is it all propaganda?" Arlen asked one last question, getting colder by the second.
Vocht simply nodded no, before following Senna.
"Wait!" Arlen shouted before Vocht got too far. "You never finished telling me about Dazeen! What about it should I be worried about?" And he ran off to them, catching up after a few moments.
The presence of all that was rock extending upwards had vanished, and the ungodly view of a great valley, unlike anything Arlen had ever witnessed, appeared in front of him. Grabbing one end of the last massive rock and moving around and in front of it, he could see what he'd been trekking all night for.
Behind Dazeen curved the horizon hosting the valley of the Low-Heights, far extending upwards beyond the horizon of yellow, where grass also elevated, and upwards into the farther ends of the Woken Spine. And before it all, the river cut through east to west. Massive as it was, it was no obstacle for these people. A large, long extending bridge of rock and wood, he only assumed came from one of the patches of thickets far into the horizon, glazed by the early signs of a sunrise.
The bridge itself rose with homes; dozens. Shops, many; Portways on each side, long and connected. Boats, people. Hundreds. Smoke, smoke that was emitted from the chimneys of wooden homes, and the glistening blue river below it all, below the world he'd traveled as of recent. Arlen had been accustomed to the red-bricked style of Mazander, the massive architecture of penultimate rises and bridges of stone overlooking the Drop Lands, melding into the Kingdom of Esh far beyond the eye could see. He was accustomed to the life of sparse dirt and grass and abundant walls and statues. This was similar, however, to one or two towns he'd passed in his early days, except they were nothing like this. The beauty of the dots of people passing through in the early morning. The boats swaying and untied, for the morning fisheries. Dazeen was essentially a small bridge city. He could only imagine what Kimash might've looked like if Eskian Standards fared the way it presented itself to him.
He'd been on a low hill, not too tall, and below him, not far off, walked Vocht and Senna, to a path that had been made by many people walking back and forth through it. Much more prominent than the one he'd been on, where hardly anyone walked through.
Catching up with them, he just admired the town, they walked in silence and tandem, each side to side, Senna eyeing him every few seconds.
There wasn't a gate per se, but rather three people who sat in makeshift wooden stools against a natural stone wall. Two on the right side and one on the left, talking to one another, each with a piece of wheat through their teeth, tossing them around from side to side of their lips before noticing the group approaching.
Each wore basic browns and furs, one of them, the one on the left, stood and approached, resting his arm on his hip where a falchion-looking blade hung. Arlen noticed the same weapon on each of the men.
"Senna!" A large one said, next to a taller one on the right side, extending the end of her name. "Been a bit worried 'bout you now."
"I'm fine," she simply said, stone cold.
"We're fine," Vocht butted in, seemingly hurt the man didn't care much for him.
"Who's this, Senna," the taller man stood up, now standing over each one of them, and barely scratching a half finger above Arlen. He could tell now that he was taller than the average Eskian. Much taller.
"He was lost, helped him against a few rock-backs," she responded before being pushed to the side by the man who approached aggressively to Arlen, where his grip met Arlen's collar.
"You endanger our Senna!" He exclaimed. "Who are you to deserve her aid, boy?" His tone turned to fighting words. Spittle smacking Arlen's nose, he could tell the man was much, much older. He said nothing, confused as Vocht held the man's shoulders.
"He's good people," Vocht assured, "he was actually not a bad decoy for the rock-backs. It wasn't a problem, Lank."
Lank, Arlen thought it to be a very unusual name. But that wasn't his worry now.
"Don't care, especially since he ain't a part of us here," Lank said aloud. "You know that Senna." He grinned, looking back at her, those last words hinting at something unusual, something Arlen felt wasn't going to be fun.