Hesta huddled into her cloak as they sped on, winding along a road growing gray with early morning fog.
Suddenly, the coach lurched, began to go down, quite steeply, along a road that set the coach wheels bumping and bouncing as perilously as they had ever done across the plains.
They were crossing the Wash, as Rakia had said they would. The warehouse quarter. In Kond, you must sink before you rise, the old woman had been so fond of saying with heavy meaning.