During the day, Sandon traveled on his cantankerous padder, complaining about the beast nearly as much as the beast itself grumbled about everything. He helped with the camp setup during the evening or its breakdown in the morning. Their progress across the vast, flat, featureless plains was quick enough, but the landscape was mind numbing, the low flat-leafed vegetation giving scant relief to the dull sameness made even duller by the fading orange light. He kept a constant eye out for Men Darnak, but the Principal had taken to riding in one of the more ornate wagons, shielded from view. He saw enough of Witness Kovaar, as the priest would appear throughout the day, riding his own animal, or striding rapidly issuing directions here or there. Once or twice, Sandon caught him watching him with a lingering gaze, but pretended he didn't see, pulling his hood closer about his face. Whatever was going on in the priest's head, he would have sorely liked to know.
As they wound their way past the curves and bends of River Bodrum, Sandon sought out the young man Fran and struck up conversation in order to pass the time. The boy was eager for the tales of Atavist life, of the places far away, and he would listen, his blue eyes wide and a rapt expression on his broad, open face. He would pepper the conversation with questions, wanting to know more, for although he was in Men Darnak's retinue now, this was his first real journey outside his native homestead. Fran came from good farming stock, but had tired of farm life, eager for adventure as a young man often is. He had seen the call to Men Darnak's service as the perfect opportunity to expand his horizons.
