The King’s Highway, that legendary course, brought us out of Earthwood. Our caravan streamed ahead and churned dust into the morning summer sky. None could speak at the sight of Avalon. Her alabaster walls rising high, topped with parapets and towers, just took our breath away.
We plodded along, ignoring the traffic in the other direction. Who would leave such a place? Had the rest of Mohan just disappeared from our minds? We closed on Queensgate, the main entrance to this gleaming gem, this great capital of the world, our salvation.
We crossed the most famous bridge in the realm, our wagon wheels squeaking against the worn ancient timbers. The din of the city echoed forth from the gate like a great amplifier. It was late morning and the sun poked out from between Twin Peaks to the east. My eyes squinted though I did not want to miss a second of our crossing. Beneath us the mighty river Thuln soothed us from the heat building toward noon.
Here in Avalon we would rebuild our lives and honor our dead.