Passing by the last villages on the way to the city, Lyle didn’t bother to look.
I did. Unexpectedly people filled their tiny streets. I wondered why they were not in the city, but then I remembered the widow’s rejection.
Lyle kept the mother and her son close by. At some distance from the city gate, we flowed into a pen with waiting people. The son explained that only one can go forward to speak for his group. They hope that Lyle can persuade the gatekeepers of the metropolis to accept us.
We found an end to the line that wound through the pen, and joined it.
We had only advanced halfway when the gate closed.
We dared not leave.