“I never thought anything could be so beautiful.” Natori, the young shaman’s son staggered on the rough trail in the lush forest. The fog was a widow’s shroud on the land. Though he was warm in the unfamiliar clothes of the Qu’ullad people, he still shivered.
Vastusia, took his hand, his flesh slightly darker than hers, and smiled. “I told you there was a world beyond the savanna.”
He frowned. V’rovi traditions do not forbid us traveling to other places.”
“Only discourage it.”
“Our land, our traditions define us. We would cease to be a people without them.”