[It's different here. Something in the air. Almost intangible, like a whisper through the reeds. This world is so much vaster than than the walled city in which she dwells. The sky is blue and vast above, and the grass isn't green but a muddled sort of yellow, almost gold if not so rich. Mountains in the distance, purple, not as ragged and full of ancient, restless spirits as Sundermount, but imposing like giants.
She's heard people call this place Montana. It took a few days to wind inward from the plains where she arrived to streets and from those streets to a town. Barely a pinprick on the map. A dot among a vast sea of them. The bloodwriting on her face draws stares and double takes, which she never heeds. She feels lost, even with the ball of twine she grips tightly in her hand.
The sky is blue and vast above. Almost infinite, with wisps of cloud on the late afternoon breeze.]