Ozma had moved farther down her path, and found out more, piece by piece, about this world. A snippet here from a traveler, and a bit there for an overheard conversation, or any place else she could get the bits of information she needed.

Her small presence was a blessing for getting information, but she realized quickly, in this place would make it hard to lead a revolt. She had been considering several options, including masking herself back into Tip, but had finally settled on just finding help. She couldn't go at this alone, and the people here didn't seem so thrilled with the situation that she couldn't find those to help her.

She just wasn't sure how to go about it.

So she sat, and waited, and listened patiently for someone. She knew, eventually, it's come.

The mundane thud of the cow's hooves, duller and slower than the gait of a horse, mixed in a strange but somehow fitting harmony with the light, swirling, improvised melody of the flute. There was no recognizable tune; it seemed as though the musician were choosing each note as he played it, selecting them entirely on a whim, soaring high and then abruptly dropping into a little skitter in a lower register, wild and free and undisciplined.

Krishna was in constant motion as he played -- dancing and swaying with his improvised melody one moment, trotting close to the bull and then further away, kicking at clods of dirt along the road and accompanying the motion with a sudden little hiccup of notes -- whatever struck him. It was all a game. His game, his pastime, his play.

And he wandered on and on, a small child beside a great calm cow, traveling further and further into the unknown but regarding the changing landscape with barely a glance. It wasn't interesting to him at all, so why bother?

Ozma stepped daintily, not that she commonly stepped any other way, on to the robe way and shook out her skirts, letting the billowing wind help pick the leaves and bits of debris from them. She was not exactly well dressed for traveling, but had made it in one piece, and generally no worse for wear, so the small girls was pleased. He pleasure showed easily in her face and she finally got herself all straightened up, and looked about the Ozland around her.

It didn't not remind her of home, and at the same time it reminded her quiet a bit of home. Even though this hadn't gone all as planned, or really, much as planned at all, the girl did not seem phased, and set off down the road, hoping she wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb. If it was much like home, no one here really would.