A mellow drizzle heralds the day, an auspicious sign for us travelers. Billowing clouds of clotted cream sweep among the powerful peaks on our left. High-pitched yells roar among the low hum of prayer. Musky vapors rise from the sodden bodies of men and beasts lined along the edge of the town.
With a groan, our convoy shakes its flanks and sets itself in motion, and like a mighty cobra, it snakes into the green hills ahead.
The horses and mules are strong and stout, the men guiding them bright-eyed and nimble on their feet. Even the dull weather can’t dim their spirits—this caravan’s in excellent shape.
“Lanying knows what she’s doing.” Karma’s approving gaze sweeps over the unbroken row behind us. “She’s gone this way many times and knows only the best of men and animals will do.”
