Like a chipmunk from its hole, we popped out of the narrow mountain pass. I was watching though the carriage window as the dark cliff wall drew back like a curtain in a play, and there it was–finally–across a blessedly flat plain–the City of Spires.
Next to me, Mother sighed wearily. I heard the horses whinny and the Driver call back, “That’s right, m’lads! Warm beds for us all this night!”
Mother said we lived here when I was a little girl, and the glorious sight brought back confused memories–swimming, dim and tangled, too far down for me to catch.
I needed to see more.
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What the camera saw:
(This also doubles as a bystander photo.)