The autumn weather was at once spectacular, and a hindrance for the caravan, as they wound their way through country lanes, surrounded by bushes as high as man. It meant that the trees were spectacular in their golden surcoats dotted with red. It also meant the occasional freezing morning, and, after a rainstorm, muddy horses and muddy clothes. Mavra tried to make the best of it. In the months that had passed since the loss of her sister and the sudden departure of Zya, Tarim and the young Ju, the procession of wagons had reverted to what would be expected of a normal band of travellers. Nobody rode about on horses, causing excitement. It was all placid and normal.
Mavra revelled sometimes in the peace that the countryside brought her, but at other times, she was sad for her sister. The n
