Near Ulaanbaatar
Adolin breathes in, and breathes out. This is it. Home. Or, at least, standing alone on the windy steppes is as close as he will ever get. If he squints, he can almost see the resemblance. There is too much dirt, for one, and the storms are not nearly strong enough, but the shape of the land itself is a familiar one. The people too; their faces could belong to friends, to family... if only he weren't always looking down to meet their eyes. Still, the stories he's been told...
As he has every day since the end of the season -- and as he has after every season since this journey began -- Adolin settles in to train in his own, unique way. He falls into a kata, the rhythms and forms of a martial art no other human on Earth has ever known. And as he dances from one stance to the next, he finds himself wishing -- as he has every day since the start -- that the sword he wields were more than a mere memory.
Adolin breathes in, and breathes out. This is it. Home. Or, at least, standing alone on the windy steppes is as close as he will ever get. If he squints, he can almost see the resemblance. There is too much dirt, for one, and the storms are not nearly strong enough, but the shape of the land itself is a familiar one. The people too; their faces could belong to friends, to family... if only he weren't always looking down to meet their eyes. Still, the stories he's been told...
As he has every day since the end of the season -- and as he has after every season since this journey began -- Adolin settles in to train in his own, unique way. He falls into a kata, the rhythms and forms of a martial art no other human on Earth has ever known. And as he dances from one stance to the next, he finds himself wishing -- as he has every day since the start -- that the sword he wields were more than a mere memory.