The narrow path wound its way back and forth across the hillsides, slithering snake-like

along the curbs of the landscape.

Clouds of dust kicked up by the herds of cattle and horses and flocks of sheep in the

slowly turning wheels of the wagons and the chariots obscured the steep walls rising

around them.

The people moving along with the choking layer of airborne dirt caught only occasional

glimpses of their destination, far below this last pass through the towering white-capped

mountains.

The flat, verdant plain laid out ahead of them, the place with ample pasture for their

animals, what would become their new home.

Adia was the term they used for themselves, at least in general.

They had a more specific term for their little clan, this grouping of mostly young men,

half-brothers, cousins, cousins, husbands, adopted sons, and a few wives and unmarried women.

But Adia tended to be the more relevant one in a land of people unlike them.

There were already people living down there on the other end of the pass.

They didn't speak their language or worship their gods, fear some indra and agni, or

consume their sacred somadric, or sacrifice horses at the funeral of a great and powerful

man.

Those things far more than the pottery they used or the way they built their houses to

find them.

They were used to living among others, and many had already traveled far and wide over

the courses of their lives.

...