Shaking her head slowly, Nubia cursed under her breath. She had been told to expect some mild discomfort, possibly followed by a headache. She could most definitely testify that the discomfort had been more than mild, and the headache quite brutal. Turning onto Carlston's main thoroughfare, Nubia looked about for the establishment from which Leon had rented her carriage.

Carlston was not exactly what she had expected. She had seen many pictures of it and other similar cities before, but no picture could have prepared her for the reality of the experience. People were everywhere. Descria was naturally busy due to its international importance, but this city, a comparatively small one in a largely forgettable country, seemed to be just as crowded and perhaps even busier. Humans were everywhere, clogging the cobbles with bodies as well as the odd horse or carriage. Most seemed to be in a deadly rush, even in the middle of winter.

The second thing that struck her about the city was its smell. She had expected the stench of manure thanks to the Sourcen notion of using horses as a means of labour, but she had never imagined that so many offensive odours could mingle together as they seemed to in Carlston. The end result was indeed terribly unpleasant, but Nubia also found herself fascinated by the information her senses were being bombarded with. This city somehow felt far more natural to her than the enforced hygiene of the Descrian streets, far more alive.

Suddenly aware of those around her, Nubia began to notice that people were staring in her direction. This, of course, was nothing overly unusual in and of itself, but unlike the Ethereans of Descria, these people seemed on-edge, even frightened. Nubia was well aware that her sense of fashion was eccentric, but that her appearance would invoke such emotion in people in Carlston was, to say the least, startling. This city was obviously not the sort of place where eccentricity was expected as in Descria--or even so much as tolerated, it seemed.

Shivering under her fur coat, Nubia ducked into a side street where she quickly found what she was looking for. Cline's, the only honest transportation service in the entire duchy according to Leon's sources, differed little from the others she had seen on her way through the city. It was, if anything, dingier than its competition, and not exactly inspiring of confidence. Standing uncertainly inside the doorway, Nubia shook off the cold of winter as she appraised the establishment a second time. It was dingy, but not unforgivably so, especially by grounded standards. And the guy behind the counter was kind of cute.

Presumably Cline, the man looked to be the sort who could put anyone at ease, and Nubia was no exception. His honest face regarded her patiently, with only mild interest at her outlandish appearance. He smiled politely as she approached the counter and loaned forward slightly.

"What can I do for you, Miss?"

Nubia opened her mouth to reply, but stopped herself after taking a breath, frustrated at her stupidity. She had almost replied in Nnan, the elvish language, which she was sure very few people in the area were familiar with, least of all this man. Part of her training over the years had included instruction in Sourcen, her native language; Mévet, the main language of the East; and Nnan, the language of the elves. Despite the efforts of her tutors--Leon especially--to communicate chiefly in Sourcen, Nubia had always preferred Nnan because of its musical quality. Now, however, she would have no choice.

"I have arrangements," she told him simply, almost mechanically. Hearing her own voice in comparison to his, she realised how forced and unnatural her accent seemed--it was not at all the accent of a native. She would have to try harder.

Cline nodded. "I know. I was told to expect a lady with unusual hair."

Nubia smiled. "That's one way of putting it. I suppose you were informed about where we're going?"

"Sure have," he assured her while standing. "You can wait here while I get things ready, if you like." He motioned to a chair standing uncertainly in one corner, a specimen obviously in need of dire repair. Physically exhausted beyond caring, however, Nubia sat down heavily and thanked Cline before he stepped out the door.

Minutes later, they were underway, Nubia riding in a carriage enclosed against the elements--something she had never once seen in Descria. She remembered horse-drawn carriages from her childhood, watching them pass and thinking how majestic they were. Not once had she actually ridden in one, though. To her, carriages were small, open to the air, and pulled by elvish slaves. Huddling in her coat against the cold, Nubia reminded herself that home, her parents and her sister were only a few hours away. Apprehension threatening to overtake her, she sat back in the carriage's seat, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. Peacefully, she focused her attention on the sound of the horses labouring and the wheels creaking. This was what her homeland was like, a place where work was defined by the caring relationship between man and beast, not the casual abuse of owner and slave. This was a place where she could live and be happy.

Opening her eyes, Nubia reached beside her and lifted Amilin's flute. She had wanted to practice with the time transit would offer her, but her own thoughts had soured her mood. Now, thinking of her sister and of Amilin, the only person she could dare call a friend, Nubia began to play. Softly, the music of the garden hymn began to flow.