In An-uxhwi's youth, his mother, Je-thuro, had taught him the stories of their people. And at the furthest edge of those stories were the Gray Highlands, far to the south of their homeland, the highest mountains in the world. Beyond them was a region of legend: the Wet Lands, the home of the Soakers.

It was said that the sun never shone in the Wet Lands. That rain poured down endlessly from the sky, and turned all the earth into a morass of mud and marsh. That the air was too thick and hot to breathe.

The rational mind might have concluded, even without direct evidence, that much of this was unlikely. However different the Soakers' environmental preferences from those of the xtauh, surely their native land had to be at least marginally habitable. An-uxhwi had a chance to reflect upon this as he looked down from a high promontory over the lands about which so much had been said. To the stories' credit, it was raining; but it was not the deluge one might have expected. Nor was it at all hot, but very chilly, for the party was still quite high above sea level.

Hills and valleys spread out below. Shrouded in mist though they were, there was a noticeable difference between them and their counterparts on the other side of the mountains; while there, at the higher elevations, there was greenery and trees, they were… sparser, more limited. Down below them now, at least where the surface of the rock did not defeat them, the plants grew thick and dense. And even the rock had its layer of greenery; soft, thick moss grew everywhere.

The entire party had emerged from the book for a look. The other three xtauh looked down on the sight with astonishment, their gaze moving between the trees below and the far distance, where, if one looked long enough, one could be persuaded that they saw a blue-green expanse in the distance, extending to infinity. Shyriath's expression was unreadable; though An-uxhwi had been around him and Evrith long enough to catch the meaning of their most common expressions, this one was one he hadn't seen before. It perhaps was a mixture of reverence, longing, and bitterness - the reaction to a place where millions of takmar lived normal lives, but where he could not walk unmolested.

Evrith appeared to stare at it without seeing it. When An-uxhwi and Shyriath had returned with news of Ynudh's new counterpart, she had retreated into a bleak silence. But, clearly against her own desires, she had come out of the book; as she had said, whether it would draw the dark takmar to her or not, she would be needed to find their way from here.

There was a long silence, until Tikke finally stirred. “It very soggy place,” he commented. “And cold.”

“It's much warmer far down there,” Shyriath replied absently, “or so I'm told. But still very soggy.”

An-uxhwi nodded along to the conversation quietly. Xtauh were also no strangers to the insight that it got progressively colder up the mountains, even if they certainly had no experience with ones that ended up dressed with snow. “As when we were wandering through the ice, at least with the book in our possession, we can retreat into a more comfortable place if it becomes difficult to stand the weather,” he mused aloud, although by tone it sounded as though he wasn't expecting to need the option, and was merely mentioning it out of a formality. He wasn't expecting the journey to be cosy, though - the dampness was certainly going to affect his scales if he exposed himself to it long enough. Would that result in any health issues? He had no prior experience to draw on to guess.

On that note, “We just need to take special care of the book,” he pointed out. The book was certainly more likely to take damage before he did if they were at all careless about it.

But all of this was more absent-minded musing, and he was much more interested in Evrith's glassy-eyed view of the landscape and what the future was telling her, and so his attention anchored on her body language with some worry and concern - rather more for her than their collective future.

“It could be a problem if we have to go down into wetlands,” Shyriath acknowledged. “It doesn't rain all the time, and up here it's rarely a very fierce downpour, so as long as we keep it in the pack we can probably manage. But in a marsh it's hard to keep anything dry. I remember my mother-” He stopped, his face creasing with pain, and then continued, a bit more subdued, “-I can just about remember being carried above her head while she and my father slogged through one. I suppose it was on our way to the Citadel.” <c>

“Yes,” Evrith murmured. Shyriath blinked, before it became clear to him that she had probably seen it. She added, still staring at the landscape, “We shouldn't have to go that way; what we seek will probably be up here - that way.” She jerked her head off to the right, toward a path parallel to the mountains. “The terrain will make it harder and slower than it would be further down, but it will make us less likely to be - to be found, and pursued.” This last came out as a sort of croak. It was clear that Evrith would rather not be thinking of being found, or pursued.

“Noted,” An-uxhwi acknowledged, hesitant to touch Evrith while she was in the state she was in, but full of an urge to console her and give her the comfort of physical connection, however light and superficial. “Can you tell us more about the destination?”

The question seemed to rouse Evrith slightly; she blinked slowly and turned in the direction she'd indicated. “Not much,” she replied, “not yet. It's not a particular spot that we seek, really. The figure in white will head for the Citadel; we want to cross the path they will take to get there - or at least the most likely path. Possibly should visit multiple sites, to cover the possibilities. But there are only so many routes through the foothills from the south, and they converge as they go. A search of their upper ends should not be unmanageable.”

“We won't have to go up to the Citadel itself, will we?” Shyriath asked, sounding tense.

“I hope not,” Evrith muttered.

It seemed, on reflection, as though perhaps they should be going to the Citadel, if that was where the figure in white would go, despite all the problems Evrith and Shyriath considered it to make. Not only was it one place the figure in white would certainly converge on, but the inhabitants of the takmar witches' Citadel were probably best-equipped to deal with the creatures Valcen that were pursuing them.

But he reasoned that if it were at all an option, Evrith would have said something, and so he kept those thoughts to himself. “Then I imagine the only thing left to do for now is for you to return to the book,” An-uxhwi reasoned. “And for us to be on our way, rest and food notwithstanding.”

Evrith stared off into the distance, her mouth clamped tightly shut. At last, she said, “It will be a more comfortable place to rest, but the further we go, the less it will accomplish to remain there just to avoid being detected. I will be needed to find the way.” She sighed. “We will start approaching a choice between avoiding the creatures or accomplishing the purpose of this journey.”