Taya had never traveled in her 16 years of life prior to the trip to Ryn. For those 16 years she dreamed of rolling landscapes and towering cities; now that she had seen landscape roll and cities tower, she decided that traveling was overrated.

Wagons, she now realized, weren't houses on wheels filled with feather cushions and silk tapestries. Wagons were stiff wooden boxes on wheels that rocked painfully and smelled of sweat. She spent the day-long ride wedged between the splintering wall and a burly man drinking wine from a jug. Koneko encouraged her to look out the window, but watching trees blur by only made her feel nauseous.

When they reached Ryn, Taya stumbled down the rickety wagon steps and stretched her arms as far as they could move without falling off. She tasted the air and cringed at the smoky residue, but at least it was crisp. She could swallow a world's worth after the trek and nearly tried to; the blond on the step behind her jabbed Taya with the corner of his luggage until Taya finally moved. She crashed into the back of a woman who then dropped a wicker basket, which then burst open in an explosion of undergarments. The woman flew into a fury of cursing at the bewildered girl; Koneko was quick to apologize and drag Taya away before she could upset anyone else.

That was her first taste of city courtesy.

The first taste was followed by a second - numerous restaurants and taverns turning them away from lack of reservation, lack of age, or lack of look; a third - a lanky young man whistling obscenely at them from a street corner; a fourth and a fifth until eventually she lost count.

When they finally reached the inn, Taya flopped onto her bed and wished desperately to be home. That night, she didn't dream.