Through mountain and valley, desert and coast, Iman was silent, though there was no gag to stop her from changing that. The chains on her wrists and ankles were heavy enough to stop all desire for conversation and the heat of the sun, hot enough to put her into a dreamlike fugue.
Hooded men sat on either side of her, their scimitars in their laps, their steely gaze rarely shifting from the careful watch of their charge.
Deep inside herself, she knew that she ought to be afraid. That this day may well be the last time she saw any part of Hammerfell again save the inside of a cell or an executioner's block. That she could not know what lay beyond the next turn of the road or what waited for her at the end.
But the day was so beautiful and the ride, so gentle, that all she could feel was a perverse sort of peace.
She could smell the ocean, though they were not quite close enough to see it yet. Gulls called in the distance and grain swayed in a soft, cooling breeze. Memories that she had thought long-suppressed broke through the floodgates of her mind. She bit her lip and stared hard at the floor of the cart, trying with all her might to stop the flow before it overwhelmed her.
When she next looked up, her breath caught in her throat at the familiar, yet changed skyline of Taneth on the horizon. She saw its minarets, the outline of its castles, a ship sailing out from port as the ocean was finally revealed in all its turquoise glory. As the cart drew ever closer, the city filled her field of view, its buildings towering into the sky, its walls dwarfing the farmhouses that surrounded it.
When they pulled up to the east gate and one of her guards hopped down to negotiate with the watchman on duty, her heart leaped in terror and joy alike.
She was home.