“How long do we have to go Uncle Gershan?” asked Quilot.  The older man glanced at the child then looked out to the horizon.
“Just over this hill and you should be able to see.”
“What’s the city like?”
“I can’t even begin to describe it.  Be patient and you’ll surely be impressed.”  Quilot had grown up in the mountains with his Aunt Wealan and Uncle Gershan.  The largest place he’s been to so far was the nearby town down on the valley, so he was very excited about finally seeing to this ‘city’ that he’s heard the grownups talk so much about.

The pair quickened their pace, as both knew that they only had to get over the small hill to reach the goal they set out for a week ago.  The weather was bright and sunny and a light breeze swept perpendicular to the track they travelled.  Beside them grew fields of wild flowers that swayed gently like waves on a green ocean coloured with specks of different hues.  Quilot observed the assorted butterflies and bees with great amusement as they busily went about their job in pollinating the flowers.
“Do you think I can take some of these flowers back to see if can grow them Uncle Gershan?” he pondered.
“How do you know they’re not poisonous?” replied Uncle Gershan.
“Even if they are you and Aunt Wealan can cure me.”
“Sometimes there is no cure for a poison Quilot.”  Quilot thought about that notion for some time.
“I’ll remember that Uncle,” he finally answered.

Quilot had great respect for his aunt and uncle.  They had raised and nurtured and him and now they were teaching him the art of healing.  Both were respected physicians within their community but kept a low profile although their skills were much greater than the famous doctors who resided in the cities.  The purpose of this trip was to buy a rare herb that was required to heal one of the villagers and to stock up on some medical supplies.  Both his aunt and uncle were self-sufficient herbalists, as they grew most of their own crops, but on rare occasions a trip to the city was required.  His uncle usually made the trip alone but after some insistence from Aunt Wealan that Quilot was old enough not to be ignorant about the world he agreed to let the fifteen-year-old boy tag along.

As Quilot approached the crest he could slightly see the tall buildings along the far side a walled enclosure.  Each step he took revealed more of this massive collection of structures that was being revealed from top to bottom behind the veil of the flowery hill.  They stopped on the peak to gather in the view this enormous man-made colosseum where over twenty thousand people dwelt.  The city was bordered by a square wall that was five storeys tall and five miles wide on each side.
“Only about another hour or so to go,” said Uncle Gershan.  “You’ll get to see more when we’re inside.”  Quilot noticed that there were four opened gates, each identical to the other, on each face of the wall.  The gates were in an arch about 2 storeys high with two timber panels that opened into the city.  The large panels were made from sheets of timber logs that were reinforced together by steel panels and bolts in between each log.  At each entrance were a dozen guards lined up on either side of the gate who made random checks on the people that entered and left the compound.

Their small trail wandered down to the main road where many travellers in assorted clothing were journeying towards the west gate.  The wealthier ones were on horseback and the even wealthier ones were in horse driven carts.  The peasants walked on foot and wore canvas tunics and pants and grass shoes.  There was a team of men behind them that hauled cargo, for trade in the city.