After a few minutes of consideration, she decided to walk the length of the valley to the orchard. She still had an hour or so before the sun set in the east. She longed to see what rested behind the highest mountain ridge, the northernmost hill with a winding staircase carved deep into its steep side. Dinah took her time getting there, and found herself wandering along the outer mountain face of the valley as the Yurkei settled into their tents in the late afternoon. Dim lights from white torches flickered within the fabric tents, giving the valley an enchanted, mythical glow, like ethereal clouds had floated into its midst. As she walked, Dinah saw the lowered eyes of the tribe as she passed them, a sign of disrespect. The Yurkei’s distrust and anger toward her remained, but she was no longer spit upon or had rocks thrown at her when she left her tent, and that was a vast improvement. Many of them crossed the valley to avoid walking next to her, and Dinah wondered if it was just that they didn’t want to chance touching her, of if they were afraid of her. Her sessions with Bah-kan and Sir Gorrann were growing in popularity, and while she always lost, she was a strong fighter.
Time passed slowly here, and Dinah wandered aimlessly through the valley for a few hours; her only excitement was when she pressed herself against the mountain to avoid a group of tan ponies galloping through. The twilight hours of the Yurkei Mountains were their playtime, and the thundering of hooves had become a comforting sound each night when Dinah fell asleep. The Yurkei life was so peaceful, so different than the life she had grown up with at the palace—a life of politics and games, of tarts and dresses and Cards. Here, one simply lived and toiled against the ground. It was about community and a natural life. Possessions didn’t matter much to the Yurkei—only land and horses mattered to them, the wilds around them, the mountains and the birds, all the things they worshipped in one way or another. It was, of course, land that her father desired from them. And if she had been crowned Queen beside him, as she had desired her entire life, she probably would have consented to the Yurkei raids, and eventually to a war—after all, they seemed to come every thirty years or so. Wonderlanders feared the Yurkei while at the same time desiring their freedom and the connection they had with the wild nature of Wonderland itself. Her head spinning, Dinah watched a stunning pale mare run feverish loops across the valley. In the distance, dozens of white cranes folded their wings in a massive twig nest that nestled against a rocky outcrop. I could stay here, thought Dinah with surprise, I could be happy here. She could become a Yurkei warrior, live in a flat tent that was suspended from the mountainside and learn to love the heights of the ropes strewn between the two mountains.
Yes, she could be happy here, perhaps in time. There was no Wardley, so a truly perfect life was ruled out, but what could she do? He would never find her here, and she would never return to the palace, lest her head grace the white marble slab that took so many. This valley could hold a possible future for her, and yet, her heart kept its distance from the idea. The truth, if she thought about it, was that there was no blissful ending to her story. Her punishment had not been decided, but whenever Mundoo got around to planning it, Morte would be put to death. Her fate awaited his, and if his was any indication, then she should understand that this brief reprieve from death was just that. Mundoo would be right to let her fly off the wings of the crane, for if she was Queen, she certainly would have put the daughter of her most-feared enemy to death. Perhaps Mundoo was having Bah-kan train her so that later it would be a fair(er) fight to death when her time for execution came. A show for the crowds, a glorious bloody death for those who desired justice.
Her wandering thoughts were interrupted by a delicious smell entering her nostrils. It was a distinct smell, warm and fruity, so unlike the earthy aromas of the Yurkei food. There was a hint of cherry and rose, fresh baked bread and cream. How was that possible? Was she dreaming? She sniffed the air again. No. The smell is real. She carefully followed the aroma into a small orchard that sat at the far west end of the valley.
The trees were thick, the swath of fruit trees perhaps a quarter of a mile long. Petite lemon trees dripping with yellow fruit nuzzled up next to lush apple trees, their trunks pushed against floating mulberry trees. Even higher, some fruit trees hovered, connected to the ground by some sort of shiny blue vine that snaked along the path, its purple fruit the size of marbles.