It was rare for Reist to join a caravan this large, but the Wastelanders promised they’d eventually return to their hidden home deep in the Wastes.  While she neither expected nor asked to be honored to see such a place, they did offer to guide her to some of the ruins their people knew of.  That was what she truly wanted, no, needed to find.  A place of the ancients where the goddess may have once ruled.  Following the retreating head of the man that kicked her awake, she could not help but feel pressed in by the noise and the walls.<br/><br/>There were too many people, her own people favored small enclaves where they could study and required only a few families to help support those called to serve.  More than once she felt a tug on the wrapping that comprised of her clothing, the would-be pickpocket finding nothing but more folds.  Her coin was nestled securely in her boots with only a small purse around her neck, a trick taught to her by an uncle that often travelled the lands.<br/><br/>The harsh bark of her guide speaking in anger drew her attention, causing her to pause and consider if she should continue forward.  However she doubted the anger was directed at her and in her scant few years travelling few had dared attempt to harm her.  Stepping out of the path of a couple young boys bickering over something, she finally found her way to her guide.  His language was harsh as he spoke with one of his own, gesturing toward others that were joining the caravan.  Reist’s dark eyes followed the gesture, drawn to an elderly woman.  Out of habit she searched for signs of pain or distress, seeing the bent back and twisted hands of one who’d worked hard with little rest.  She was tempted to offer what aid she could, the scriptures clearly stated that the elderly and infirm were to be given what comforts could be found before the goddess claimed them.<br/><br/>Once more there was a sharp sound, Reist’s head snapping in the direction out of instinct.  Only this time it was the sound of flesh on flesh as her guide punched one of his men across the chin, knocking the young man to the ground.  They were not largely built, her companions, the desert honing their bodies into lean yet sturdy weapons.  They reminded her of the<em>chaka</em>lizards found on the edge near her settlement.  Blending in with the background and seeming harmless until they took it in their head to strike, moving fast as a blink with bites that could leave a grown man huddled in pain.   Shaking free of her thoughts she glanced in the direction her guide was looking.  She’d seen such a look before, one of territorial thoughts and perhaps even a challenge to prove oneself.  He was glaring at a mountain of a man with flaming red hair, tattoos covering what parts of his body she could see.  Batak, the leader of her guides would cause trouble if able.  The flame haired man bore the confidence of a warrior and a survivor, one not easily impressed with Batak’s command.<br/><br/>“Come!  It is time!  Before the sun rises we need to be free of this place!”  Bellowing out in his broken common tongue, Batak yelled for the caravan to finish forming, striding to the gates as he did so.  She’d been told to stay near the middle and out of the way, something she was happy to do as she had little training with beasts of burden or the sled-like wagons they pulled.  As the people were roused into motion by Batak’s men she waited, watching those she’d be travelling with.  It was a large caravan by her standards, at least four free merchants and a couple of trade wagons hauling the wares of clients on either end of the trek.  She was grateful there were so many of Batak’s people accompanying them, such a collection would surely be a target for bandits.<br/><br/>Counting wagons and people she finally decided she was parallel with the middle, slipping in to join those walking the journey.  Though it did not take long for her dark clothing and perhaps something else to empty a circle around her.  Sighing at the inevitability of another lonely venture, Reist pressed on, shifting the straps of the bags on her shoulders to better bear the weight.    As she walked she looked for the wagon of the old woman, deciding to visit it when they stopped at high sun.  There was little she could offer but she would what she could, as was her duty and calling.  Despite what many believed.  She only hoped that the woman was not superstitious, unlike the last.  Whispering a prayer for the man that fled into the Wastes out of fear she was some spirit seeking his soul she pulled the wrappings tighter around her face, shifting the cowl formed by loose fabric until it shaded her eyes to prevent the sun from touching her skin once it rose.<br/>