Snowblind – a racial slur. Refers to Southerners as they are considered ill-educated and so set in their ways that they are 'blinded' by the snow of their homeland and need to 'thaw' to be enlightened and make the best use of their talents.

(First City Dictionary)

It neared the end of the dry season. The rains would come soon, yet everything remained green. A warm breeze sighed through the exotic vegetation, and long, straight, tree-like plants that grew in sections filled the landscape.

Grass sprouted everywhere, bright and lush, long blades twirling in gusts full of unfamiliar scents, while fruit trees displayed appetising globes, but they dared not touch them – one mistake and their journey could end in tragedy.

Lanna's hands tightened on the driftwood staves. They dragged behind her, scraping and vibrating like a drumskin under her sweat-slick palms. Lashed between the wood lay her mother. The Blacklands canker afflicted them all, but her mother had lost toes.

The muscles in Lanna's back tightened where hips met spine, and the space between her shoulder blades burnt, perspiration trickling down the valley of her backbone. The furs she wore itched against her wet skin, but she had to wear them – her only alternative was underclothes.

Lanna rolled her shoulders and glared up, not quite at the sun but to a nearby patch of azure, watching scudding clouds with gold underbellies.

Her father swore and trudged ahead, knotted muscles in his legs and arms taxed beyond even his endurance. His walk dragged and his hands hung limp.

'Ma?' Lanna turned and checked her cargo.

The disgruntled face of her mother, Freya, peered from the leather strips and fur that held her in place. 'This pissing heat will be the death of us all.' Her mother's pallid face shone with fever, her cheeks and eyes hollow, shadows deepened by the merciless northern sun.

Worry tugged again at Lanna's stomach, threatening to make her falter. She had never seen her mother so weak.

'Take heart,' her father's voice grumbled from ahead. 'At least there's plenty to drink here.'

Lanna shrugged but a cold stab of fear sliced through her chest. As a good Clanswoman should, she didn't acknowledge such things, but the emotion refused to subside. A new country, a new people. Would they be accepted? There were no guarantees. Months of travel and they may find themselves unwelcome. She bit her lip. In the clans she had not been accepted – why would things be different here? The nation had changed but her sickness remained.

A stave struck yet another stone and the wooden poles jumped in her grip, rough bark rubbing at her raw palms. It didn't matter; the ancestors were giving her an opportunity to pay back her debt to her family. Usually it was her that needed care.

Hide boots fell once again into monotonous rhythm, and the ground yielded under her footing – rich, dark, fertile. Ever since they'd crossed the Blacklands, the heat had increased, day by day. They had never known air so hot that it lay thick and heavy in the lungs. Their fur clothes and pale, bulky bodies were not bred for this climate.

'It's like another world,' Freya muttered from behind.

'Yes,' Lanna whispered. 'It is different.' The word didn't come close to describing the mixture of wonder and foreboding that coursed through her in alternating waves. Lanna found this land unnerving in its strangeness. What creatures did those thickets of pretty plants conceal?

She pulled onwards. The track under her feet was some sort of cattle path, she thought. If so, surely there must be a farm or village nearby? She forgave her uncertainty – after all, there were no cattle in the south, so she had no knowledge of their upkeep or habits.

Lanna's stomach sank once more. What welcome would a half-starved family of Southerners would receive? Many had fled north; none had returned to the clan lands. Clanspeople must settle somewhere in the Empire. But where? That was the question that nagged at them all. Where did their people make a place for themselves in this mysterious far-north land?

Rapid footsteps and crashing underbrush sent her body into a semi-panic. Her feet halted and her toes dug into the soil, knuckles turning white on the staves. If she needed to run, then she would be ready. Her heart pounded and rose into her throat, pulsing with the instinct to flee.

Her brother, Durrick, burst through the plant life on the verge of the path. At only fifteen, he had yet to gain bulk: thin, long-limbed, with knock knees and elbows, his blond hair was now matted to his scalp, a trickle of sweat running from his forehead into his blue eyes.

'Village,' he gasped. 'About a click north-west.'

Lanna's heart stilled and sank back to its proper place. A village. Not a farm but a full settlement. Her earlier anxiety slipped back into her chest. She moistened her cracked lips.

'Thank the ancestors,' her mother sighed.

Alric grunted and patted his side-son on the shoulder. 'You did well.' Then he added, 'You scout a campsite?'

'Of course I did,' Durrick muttered, rolling his eyes. 'There's a rough patch of ground next to a pond – no one should mind us setting up there.'

'We hope,' Lanna mumbled.

'Close your face, gloom merchant,' her brother spat back, bristling at her attitude in the face of his triumph. Lanna resisted the urge to poke her tongue out at him, but only just.

'Children, please.' Her mother's disappointed tone cut through the argument before it could develop. 'Let's set camp and eat. Then we can see what the locals think of our visit.'

They followed the track, which gradually widened, and soon the ground flattened out into a shallow valley. A ramshackle village hugged its slopes, houses taking up the land least suitable for farming.

Moments later they walked through a single street of dwellings either side of the dirt track. Wooden buildings crowded around them; many needed repair, although their red-tiled roofs were bright and cheery in the afternoon sun. Not a single soul greeted them. The empty village showed all the signs of occupation – filled water jars but open doors, the scent of woodsmoke, and laundry strung from windows, snapping like banners in the grass-scented breeze.

'These houses look no better than Auntie Ella's yurt,' Lanna said to no one in particular. 'Looks like they don't have two fish to their nets.'

'Quiet, Button,' Alric hissed, scanning the shuttered windows and the shade between the buildings.

It didn't take long to find the tiny patch of spiky grass Durrick had seen at the edge of the village. Lanna looked at the rough ground and then lowered Freya down.

'Scared?' her little brother sneered. She glared at him and moved to check on her mother. Freya struggled to sit and waved Lanna away. Obeying, she turned to the ground and started to toss rocks aside.

Lanna found it difficult to concentrate on erecting their tent. She couldn't help pausing to stare at the scenery. So much green. After the dull tones of the Blacklands, her eyes ached to see the tall trees with their spreading branches and delicate leaves – sharp jade ovals that fluttered in the warm breeze.

'Lanna! Stop gawking like a gup – get the pegs in.'

Shamefaced, she grunted at Alric and turned her gaze from the trees. Yet she couldn't resist another glance and soon she let her eyes sweep over the countryside.

The valley spread north from the village to form a steep-sided trough, and flooded fields with golden grass filled the lowlands. She inhaled giddy, floral scents. Perhaps she'd been too quick to judge the village. They had an abundance of food. They might trade, and there could even be work for them here, even if it was only temporary. A furtive hope slithered over her mind.

'Maybe we can help with the harvest?' her father rumbled. 'They must be at work or why is this village empty?'

'We have company.' Durrick's voice snapped Lanna's tenuous concentration. 'Girl just came out the biggest house.'

Pain stabbed in Lanna's thumb and she dropped her mallet.

'Fish-humping son of a bronto!' She clutched her hand to her chest and stamped her feet. Ancestors, she must be moons touched. Lanna expected to hear a jeer from her brother. Instead, she heard a gasp and feet running towards her.

Before she could work out where the sound had come from, someone grabbed her injured hand. The unfamiliar fingers moved over her skin – fine-boned, long and tapering – their light brown complexion appearing to glow against Lanna's. A palm slipped over her own, work calloused and rough against her stinging blisters, an old scar cutting over the back of the right index finger in a white crescent.

Another brown hand joined the first and Lanna's fingers were turned over with care, inspected then turned back. Lanna didn't know what to do. Her first instinct was to pull away, but that could be viewed as rude. Indecisive and confused, she stood passive, enduring the stranger's inspection as if she were a child fallen and in need of comfort.

Lanna risked a glance from the hands to the face of the person and her mouth dropped open. Her hands were being held by the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen.

The stranger's head drew level with Lanna's shoulder. Her midnight-black hair fell straight over her shoulders, her eyes deep brown but warm like her skin. She wore a bright yellow dress of some light, flowing fabric.

The woman tilted her head back to look up at Lanna, her generous lips turning up into an easy smile.

Lanna shifted her feet, self-conscious, scuffing the cracked hide of nearly worn-through boots.

The girl said something in a high but soft tone. The sound rolled and trilled. They had known the Empire didn't speak the clan tongue, but to hear it made the barrier real. Lanna's worries pressed on her chest once again. Could they really live here? In this land of birdsong words and hot sun?

She shook her head. 'I'm sorry, I don't understand.' Lanna bit her lip and glanced at her father and brother for aid, but they stood blank-faced, at as much of a loss as she.

Instead of showing frustration, the beautiful girl beamed at them. She swept her hands in a full arc and patted her chest.

'Mee-Ka.'

'If that's her name, it sounds like a sea-cow passing wind,' Durrick muttered with a shadow of a grin. Alric glowered at his half-son.

'Hush,' hissed Lanna.

'Lanna.' She pointed to herself and echoed, slowing her speech and over-pronouncing the word. 'Lan-na.'

'Lthannaa?' The girl pulled a face at the Southern word then chuckled.

'Introductions.' Freya's voice came from beyond the felt and fur shelter that now occupied the grass.

Mika peeped round Lanna then gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth.

Lanna turned and then realised what troubled the young woman. Freya's ruined feet lay uncovered, white bone, pus and raw flesh on display as she cleaned the wounds without a wince.

While Lanna felt pride in her mother, Mika appeared horrified. Her golden hand trembled over her mouth and her throat undulated as she swallowed. A heartbeat later she turned and ran, screaming what sounded like a name at the top of her lungs.

'That could have gone better,' Durrick muttered.

Lanna sighed and watched Alric bend to touch his forehead to Freya's.

'Feel better now, Snowflake?' he asked, voice gruff, lips curling upward.

'Yes,' Freya responded with a smirk. 'Though I think we frightened Lanna's new friend.'

'I doubt we'll be friends, Ma.'

'Ah, Button, trust your mother,' Freya said andreturned to her grim task. 'We'll do well here. I have a good feeling aboutthis place.'