To those who arrive on Rhy'Din in less than ideal circumstances, the Welcome Center is often the only thing standing between them and instant poverty. Of course, for some, the definition of poverty is very different to the city's definition. It all depends on the year they come from, the class they were born into, the circumstances of their departure from whatever world they have left. Often they arrive alone, and sometimes they go back, but for those who have nothing to their name and nowhere to turn, the Welcome Center is a lifeline they cannot afford to let go of.

This was true of twenty-two year old Bridget Donohoe, pulled out of the harbor waters after she made an almighty splash landing in them from apparently nowhere. Without her antiquated life-jacket, she might have drowned right then and there, but thankfully the pockets of cork were enough to keep her afloat until help came to her. And now here she was, two days after arriving, living off the kindness of the Welcome Center, trying to shake off the trauma of her unfinished voyage from Ireland to America in the early years of the 20th century, unable to read the notices for jobs available through her lack of education. All she had were the clothes she stood up in, and a will to work for her living. Now all she had to do was find a job that would take an Irish immigrant with no qualifications. Even on Rhy'Din, that was a tall order.

Sam McAlister was at the Welcome Center on business. He'd been sent there by his employer to fetch a few newcomers to help out at the ranch. He'd been instructed specifically to hire a few hands, along with a maid. Ranch hands were easy enough to find, but maids were another matter. Women were usually spoken for first, while men were a dime a dozen. He wasn't particularly fond of this task. He'd rather be tending cattle than looking for help, but an order was an order, and he wasn't in a position to argue. Still, it sort of felt a little like the slave trade, and despite his less than sterling reputation, he had his morals.

Amid all the bustle of the Welcome Center, Bridget was a sea of stillness and calm. She'd been drilled in how to make a good impression by her mother from a young age, all of them knowing that the only way to improve your lot in life was to catch the eye of someone who might want to take you a little higher than where you stood. That meant being well turned out, your clothing clean, your hair neat, and knowing when not to make a point of standing out in a crowd. As it was, Bridget was a product of her time, dressed in the rather more modest attire of a woman from the lower classes in the early 20th century, her hands folded on her lap as she sat near the door. She might have seemed to be staring into space, but what she was actually doing was listening to the requests as they were made to the staff in the center. She was certain that she would catch something about a job she might be suited for.

Thankfully, Sam knew better than to inspect people's teeth and check their hair for lice. He had a good eye for cattle, which helped him have a good eye for people. He only chose those who looked hardy and fit, and were neat and clean in appearance. There was no point in hiring someone who appeared lazy or sickly or unkempt, as they'd never work out. His boss was in the business of making money, not doling out charity, and while Sam might not agree, it wasn't his job to argue. He'd already picked a half dozen hands and sent them to the wagon to wait. He was just about to give up on finding a suitable maid when he spied a young redhead sitting demurely on a chair, as if she was patiently waiting for someone or something.

In the course of her eavesdropping, Bridget became aware that someone was staring at her. Her eyes flickered toward the perpetrator, looking him up and down quickly before looking away. He looked like trouble, that one; the kind of man her mother had always told her to stay away from. Admittedly, the kind of man she'd always been a bit fascinated with, but she wasn't stupid enough to give him any indication that she liked the way he looked. After another moment, she glanced back, and he was still looking at her. Her brows knotted in a frown. "Were you going to pay me for all that lookin', or are you just saving up a memory for later?"

To his credit - or not - he hadn't looked away when she'd noticed him staring, sizing her up, just as she was doing the same. A faint smirk appeared on his scruffy face, as if he found her cheeky attitude amusing. "Ain't no reason to pay for something I can get for free," he replied with equal brashness.

Her brow rose at his response. "Get it somewhere else, I'm not here for whorin'," she informed him coolly, the lyrical lilt to her voice betraying her Irish roots. "I'm here for paid work, honest work, and I'm not going to spread my legs for a man who doesn't even know how to shave himself proper."

"Whorin'?" he echoed, laughing. "Darlin', did you miss what I said the first time" I ain't paying for something I can get for free. And I ain't here to hire no whore. I'm looking for someone who's willing to work for an honest wage, but you might be a speck too sassy." To be honest, he liked his women sassy and spunky and she seemed to have that in aces, but she didn't have to know that. Besides, it wasn't so much what he liked in a woman as it was about her ability to do the job.

She stood up, turning to face him. "Nine years in service," she told him sternly. "Four as an upstairs maid. I'm not afraid of hard work for fair wages, and I've no family to support. Tell me the job or leave me alone, I've not the patience to play games. I need a job or I'll starve, and that isn't so different from home as you might think."

At six feet, two inches tall, he towered over her and just about everyone around, save trolls and giants and the like, but her pluckiness gave him pause. Well, it would be better to have a maid who could stand up for herself and wasn't afraid of a little hard work than one who would fall apart at the smallest thing. "How long you been in Rhy'Din?" he asked, pushing his hat back to scrutinize her better.

"Two days," she answered him fearlessly, but her hands clenched as she said it. She might not have much, but she did have her pride. She'd never been in a workhouse or a soup kitchen all her life, and yet here she was, living off the kindness of strangers. "Why, are you lookin' for something in particular?"

"I'm looking for someone who's willing to work hard. My boss ain't an easy man to please, but he pays a fair wage for a hard day's work, and you'd get room and board." He considered her again. If the decision was up to him, he'd have hired her in a minute; but then, he realized the decision was up to him. This was what he'd been sent here for, to make these decisions so that his boss didn't have to. "How old are you?" he asked. He didn't want to hire a child, after all, and she looked pretty young.

She fidgeted, disliking the question, but knowing it would inevitably come up. Back at home, she was virtually an old maid. "Two and twenty," she said awkwardly, rubbing her hands against the skirt of her coat. "What's the work you're offering?"

"Up to the mistress, but a maid, I s'pect. Her decision, not mine," he told her, considering thoughtfully again before waving for her to follow. "Come along, then. Sooner we leave, the sooner we get there and see you settled in. You got any baggage?" he asked, gaze darting to see if she had a trunk or a case or a bag.

She shook her head, a flicker of real pain crossing her face for a brief moment before she pulled herself together. "Just what I'm standin' up in," she informed him. That really was all there was to it; she was hired. A sense of relief passed over her as she moved to follow him. "Where're we going?"

"Me" Get married?" He laughed. "Just trying to be polite, miss. That's all. Don't get no silly romantic notions in that pretty head of yours." He turned the horses and wagon off the main road and onto another road that led to the outskirts of town and beyond to the farms and ranches that laid outside the city. "That's another tricky question. I reckon it depends on what calendar you follow. Most folks here reckon the year to be two thousand and sixteen."

"Who said romance had anythin' to do with marriage?" Bridget countered, snorting with laughter as he told her a year that was impossible. "Don't be daft, man. That's over a hundred years into the future!"

"On a world a long way from home," he murmured, half to her, half to himself. Why was it so unbelievable when just being here in Rhy'Din was unbelievable. If he understood her right, it sounded like the Nexus had plucked her out of time and space just in time to save her from drowning or worse. There was always something worse, but hopefully, this wasn't it.

"I'll marry you," a low voice from behind them offered, followed by a chorus of rather bawdy laughter. Bridget's pale cheeks flushed a dark shade of red, but she refused to acknowledge the voice, much less turn around and see who had spoken.

"Yeah, find out if the carpet matches the drapes," another voice joined in. Thankfully, she didn't know what that actually meant.

Sam clenched his jaw, grumbling something under his breath before pulling the wagon to stop at the side of the road. He turned slowly around to face the gaggle of men in the back - men he had hand-picked for the ranch and could just as easily let go. "You have something to say, you say it to me. This ain't a party, and she ain't the entertainment. Any one of you lays a hand on her, and I'll personally see to it your chances of ever having a family are finished. You don't like it, get out now. Ranch hands are a dime a dozen. Jobs ain't." He looked to each one, a grim expression on his face, waiting to see if any would challenge him or decide they didn't need the job.

Bridget sat in flaming silence as Mr. McAlister berated the men in the wagon bed. Not one of them even met his eyes, not even attempting to take up the challenge had laid down. They all needed the work, and it wasn't worth risking a loss just because of mild curiosity about a girl. Most of them figured they could find out another way in later days.

"I reckoned not," Sam said, turning back around, knowing the men wouldn't try anything as each and every one of them needed the work - at least, not yet. But once they reached their destination, the girl would be under the mistress' protection, and the men would be sent to the sheds that housed the hands.

As the wagon got underway once again, Bridget drew in a shaking breath. She'd been propositioned before, of course, but never in a situation where she was entirely on her own. Despite Sam's insistence that he'd keep her from harm, he wasn't her father or brother. His assurance didn't give her the same sense of safety that family would have. "What is a ranch, Mr. McAlister?" she asked quietly, as though hoping that the men wouldn't be listening to them now.

"Place where we raise steer, ma'am. Cattle. Horses, too, but mostly cattle," he replied, keeping his voice quiet, so the men wouldn't have such an easy time overhearing them. "You needn't worry about that. You'll be helping the missus keep house, not tending animals."

"Oh, I see." She didn't, not really, but she would soon have an understanding of just how wide an acreage her new employer had under his name. "And what is your job on this ranch, may I ask" Are you a foreman of sorts?"

"Of sorts," he replied, not putting a name to his position at the ranch. He'd started just like the others, as a ranch hand, a cowboy, a wrangler and worked his way up as he earned his boss' trust and proved his worth. He wasn't at the top of the totem pole yet, so to speak, but he was slowly rising.

Uncertain quite where to go from there, Bridget fell silent, her eyes turning to the scenery as the wagon left the city behind them. Nothing would ever be as beautiful as the mountains of her home, she was sure, but this Rhy'Din place had a certain beauty of its own. Her thoughts turned to the job she would soon have to turn her hands to, hoping that the mistress of the house would have patience with her to start with.

He fell silent, as well, his thoughts straying to the men in the wagon; he found himself worrying for her safety, though he wasn't sure why. She was as lovely as a wildflower, though he sensed some inner strength in her. She was a survivor, just like him, just like so many in Rhy'Din. He decided then and there against his better judgment to keep an eye on her, though once again, he wasn't sure why.

Most of the journey was made in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts, listening to the murmur of voices behind them in the wagon as the men introduced themselves to one another and fell to boasting to pass the time. For a long time, Bridget was completely unaware that the plains they were passing through were actually a part of Oakham Mount, until she saw the house rising in the distance. She gasped at the sheer size of the place, surprised to find somewhere so opulent out here in the middle of nowhere.

Pointing toward it, she touched Sam's arm lightly. "Is that it?"

Sam didn't need to lift his gaze to the house in the distance. Even from here, it looked large and imposing and strangely beautiful there in the distance, rising above the plain that surrounded it. "That's it," he confirmed. "Almost home," he said. Home for now, anyway. He wasn't sure it would be home forever. He had bigger plans; plans of his own.

"It's so big," she breathed, aware that the men behind her were also marveling at the size of the house that fronted the ranch. "Is all this land we're on now theirs, too?" Her arm gestured to the grassland around them.

"Most of it. There are some other farms hereabouts, but we're the only cattleranch." Not the only cattleranch in Rhy'Din, of course, but the only one in the surrounding area. "Quite a sight, ain't it?" he asked, a faint smile on his face as he steered the wagon in the direction of the house.

"Aye ....a sight is what it is." Bridget leaned back against the seat, feeling the weight of what she had agreed to sink in. It was very isolated out here. "A grand house must have a grand family livin' in it. Are they good people, Mr. McAlister?"

Sam frowned thoughtfully, unsure how to answer that question. In truth, he didn't really know them well enough to answer it. He wasn't one of the family; he was just a hired hand, like all the rest, just a little higher on the totem pole than the rest of them. "It ain't my place to say, but they pay well, and I got no complaints," he replied, not really answering her question. He'd heard some rumors - unpleasant ones, at that - but that was all they were. Until those rumors were proven truthful, he'd continue to go about his business, earning his pay.

She nodded, understanding what wasn't said as much as what had been. No master was ever entirely cruel or entirely kind, after all. It was no surprise that the wagon drove straight past the wide front entrance, circling the house until it came to a halt at the back, where the stables and outbuildings stretched away from the house itself. It was a bustling sort of place, reassuring in the very normal activities that were going on all around them as the men piled out of the wagon bed to stretch their muscles after the long ride.

The mistress of the house looked up from her reading, her parlor being the only place in the house Mr. Rogier would allow her to read or write, and smiled at them. "Sam, you came back successful," she declared, the drawl in her voice vaguely reminiscent of the American South.

"'Course I did," Sam drawled back, his own drawl a mix of Rhy'Din and someplace else that sounded suspiciously like the American Old West. He reached for Bridget to draw her forward with a hand at the small of her back. "This here's Bridget Donohoe. She's new to Rhy'Din. Miss Donohoe, this is Jemima, the mistress of Oakham Mount." The current mistress anyway, as they tended to change almost as often as the seasons.

Wide-eyed at the very informal greetings being shared between the mistress of the house and Mr. McAlister, Bridget edged forward to drop a curtsy to the woman. "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," she said quietly, proving that, in spite of the cheek that had caught Sam's attention in the Welcome Center, she did know how to behave around her betters.

Jemima rose from where she sat, looking Bridget over thoughtfully. She pretended not to notice the look the redhead gave her jeans, knowing that modern styles of dress did sometimes shock newcomers to Rhy'Din. "Very nice, Sam," she complimented his choice. "Well, Bridget, you will be working as an upstairs maid, and occasionally as my own ladiesmaid when I need you. You will have one afternoon off every two weeks. I expect my staff to be clean and well turned out. You will begin work the day after tomorrow - that will give you time enough to bathe and find yourself something suitable to wear. Sam, any expenditure can be put on my credit account. You know which shops to use, so you will escort her."

"Me?" Sam exclaimed, frowning with displeasure. He might know the shops in town, but he knew very little about women's clothing, except maybe how to remove it. Corsets had always given him particular trouble, and he wasn't sure what the hell women bothered with them for. They were impractical, at best, and uncomfortable, to boot. Thankfully, most of the women at the ranch were more practical than that. "Pardon my saying so, ma'am, but I don't know sh-.....I don't know squat about female things." He did, however, know where to go, and he could be counted on to get her safely there and back.

Jemima raised a brow, picking up a small bell from her desk to ring it. "Bridget, don't worry about a thing," she said, ignoring Sam for a moment. The door opened to admit a mousey girl of around Bridget's age. "Maud will show you where you're sleeping, and how to use the plumbing in the bathroom. Off you go."

Dismissed, Bridget gave Sam one mildly terrified look, and followed after Maud.

As the door shut behind them, Jemima turned to Sam. "Chad Dobson is the only other person on the ranch with nothing to do right now, Samuel McAlister, and if you think I'm going to send that girl into town with him, you have another thing coming."

Sam offered Bridget an encouraging nod of his head before turning back to Jemima with a scowl. "He's already taking liberties where they ain't welcome," he said, flopping into a chair, as if he and Jemima were old friends, rather than mistress and ranch hand. Well, that wasn't too far from the truth anyway, though friendship was as far as it had ever gone. "That man's a menace. Reckon he scared his own mother the day he was born."

Sitting down a little more gracefully, Jemima frowned. Though she was head of the household at the ranch, she didn't really have any authority, especially over Sid Rogier's more specialist employees. "Already?" she asked with a concerned frown. "That girl doesn't look the sort to make a fuss if someone overpowers her. How do you know he's already crossed the line?"

"Come on, Jem. You know Dobson. Soon as I rode up, there he was, like a buzzard on a corpse. He had her cornered against the wagon, and I swear to God, he had his hand on her backside. Christ, she's barely out of diapers. He wants to get laid that badly, there's plenty of women in town willing to oblige," Sam replied with obvious distaste for the man in question.

"But that's not the man he is," she pointed out with a sigh. "He likes the fear. And if the rumors are true, he likes hurting them, too. Just rumors are enough to blacklist him in town, so he preys on the girls up here. That's why I want you escorting her tomorrow. Even if he follows, I know you won't let him hurt her."

"I told him we're engaged," he admitted with a slight wince, knowing she was going to probably berate him for that, but hopefully, she'd understand his reasoning behind it. "She's already been through enough. She don't need Dobson making things worse."

"So marry her when you're in town tomorrow, and if he touches her, Sid won't be able to ignore it," Jemima said calmly, though she knew Sam was likely to freak out at the thought of marrying anyone, much less a little girl he'd only just met. "Long story short, Sam ....if Dobson's already shown an interest, it's only a matter of time before he does something about it. You and I both know that. But I can't say a word against him, Sid doesn't like me interfering in his affairs."

"Marry her!" Sam echoed, as if the very idea of marriage was not only ludicrous but unthinkable. Of course, he hoped to get married someday, but he was skeptical of love and romance. "If he lays one hand on that girl again, so help me God, I'll kill him," he said, between clenched teeth.

"And Sid'll toss you out, and then all those fellas who keep in line because of you? They'll declare open season on the girls here," Jemima pointed out. She wasn't as sheltered as Rogier would have liked, but in some ways, it was a very good thing. "You wouldn't have to do anything but give her your name, Sam, and share your home with her. You'll both be working long hours, you won't need to see each other much at all. And since you're already so attached that you're threatening bloody murder, you might want to reconsider your immediate reaction there."

"I ain't attached," Sam argued. Hell, he'd only just met the girl. How could he have become attached already? "Just feel a mite protective, that's all. Dobson's a snake. Only reason Sid keeps him around is 'cause he feels safer with him than without him. And what makes you think she'd agree to such a thing anyhow?" he asked, leaning forward to pluck a handful of nuts out of a tray and munch on them, one at a time.

"Because judging by what she was wearing and the way she reacted to me, she's from a time period where romance doesn't come into marriage," Jemima pointed out. "She's probably a practical sort who'll take the safety of a name over love any day. And besides, you didn't see the way she looked at you. She trusts you already, Sam. That's not something to spit at."

"And what happens then, Jem' Am I supposed to wine and dine her and make her fall in love with me?" He snorted at the ridiculousness of such a thing. Who would want to fall in love with him' A simple ranch hand with nothing to his name but the clothes on his back and the gun at his waist' Not even his horse was his to keep, but borrowed from his boss, more out of necessity than anything else.

She rolled her eyes at him. "How about you look after her?" she suggested. "You don't have to wine and dine a woman for her to love you, although it helps when she's a woman like me." She smirked impishly, but ploughed on. "You obviously like her, Sam. And she likes you, even if she doesn't know it yet. I'm not saying wed her, bed her, and get a belly on her. I'm just saying ....why not give her your name and see what happens from there?"

Bridget was fiddling with her still damp braid when she noticed Sam making his way toward where she was sitting. A faint smile touched her lips in greeting; he was, after all, the only familiar face to her here so far. "Evenin', Mr. McAlister," she said as he approached. "Off for food and bed, are you?"

"Eventually," he replied, as he took a seat on the porch stairs not far from where she was perched on her box. He tossed his hat in his lap, his hair a scruffy brown mess on his head, curling this way and that. "Might as well call me Sam," he said. There was no way they were going to be able to continue the ruse that they were engaged if she didn't. "Maud get you settled in all right?"

"Sam, then," she agreed quietly, leaning forward onto her knees. "Aye, I'm as settled as I can be. This dress needs taking in, but I can do that when I've something else to wear besides it. Maud took my clothes and burned them in case of lice, she said." She paused, looking down at her hands. "Nothin' left from home at all now."

He frowned, feeling sympathy for the poor girl so far from home without a friend in the world. It wasn't pity. There was a difference, but she wasn't the first or the last orphan to have taken a job here. In fact, he was an orphan himself. "I'm sorry," he offered, though he thought there was little he could do to help. "I can show you the way back, if you want. The portal will take you anywhere you wanna go," he said, though for some reason, he found himself hoping she'd decline the offer.

"Now why'd I want to do that?" she asked him. "I've more here than I ever had there. I've a job and a roof over my head. I've a man to look after me. In three days here, I've gained more than I did in twenty back there."

That statement alone told him how meager a life she'd come from and how little she had to lose, and yet, it only made him feel all the more compassion for her situation - at least, he thought it was compassion. "I'm to take you to town tomorrow to buy you some suitable clothes. Nothing fancy, mind, but Jem won't mind if you buy a few things for yourself. Nightclothes and a few frocks," he added, not knowing too much about women's clothes. "It'll likely take all day, so be up early."

"She's very generous, the mistress," Bridget said wonderingly. "I thought she'd start me tonight, but she's given me a day to settle in. And as to the money ....don't you worry, I'll not waste her coin. There are only a few things I need to be turned out and clean all the time, and by the time the weather starts to change, I'll have coin of my own to dress for the winter."

"I ain't worried," he said, a little too quickly and a little too vehemently to prove his claim. "She remembers where she came from," he told her, though he didn't volunteer any more information about the mistress' past history. That was her story to tell, not his.

Bridget eyed him for a moment, rising from where she sat to come and sit down on the step beside him. "You've been good to me today," she said quietly. "I saw the fight, I can guess what it was about. Haven't had a man punch another for looking at my bare shoulders before. Seems the sort of thing might turn a girl's head if she wasn't already turnin'."

He followed her advance with his eyes, staying right where he was as she settled down beside him. He wasn't going to let a mere slip of a girl frighten him, was he" He frowned to learn she'd seen the altercation with Dobson, or at least, some of it. "Reckon I only made matters worse. Ain't sure what I ever did to set him off, but he's never taken a liking to me all the years I been here. Can't say I like him much either. Never seen him show anyone kindness. Makes you wonder what kind of life turns a man's heart so full of hatred. He ain't gonna back off, until he sees us both ruined. Jem thinks I should give you my name and with it, my protection, but I ain't got nothing to offer in the way of marriage, and I ain't so sure it'll keep the old buzzard at bay."

"Aye, but if he was to try it with me now, I'd be ruined and he'd be off scot-free," she pointed out mildly. "Girls get turned out of positions all the time when a fella gets it into his head to try them. If I was married, it'd be a different thing. He'd be the one in the wrong." She shrugged. "Life's hard for them as like us. 'Tis just the way it is." Her eyes flickered toward him curiously. "You shouldn't offer marriage if you don't want it, but I'd be a good wife. I'm clean and tidy, I can cook, and, well, I'm earnin' a wage. I wouldn't be takin' from you anythin' but a little of your privacy at nights."

"Didn't say I don't want it," he replied, looking just a little indignant. But he had said that at least once that day, hadn't he? Had he meant it, though, or was it just an old habit' He sighed, sounding almost weary, as he met her gaze. "Meant what I said. I ain't got much to offer you. I ain't got no land. Don't even own my own horse. I got a small cabin 'cause I've earned it, but even that ain't mine. Everything belongs to Rogier. I belong to Rogier," he told her, wondering if he should stop there or tell her more.

"That isn't so different from home, y'know," she told him quietly. "Never had a home that was mine, always a tenant, always payin' someone for the privilege of workin' their land and keepin' their houses clean and safe. But you can make anywhere a home with a good heart. If you asked me, I'd say yes, Sam. Doesn't take much to know a good man when I see one. I'm not much to look at, I know, but I'd be a good wife to you."

It was hard to tell from the look on his face, but he was deeply touched by her faith in him, even if he didn't have that same faith in himself. "Ain't you that's the problem. I know you'd be a good wife, but I don't wanna trap you in a marriage you might grow to regret. And I ain't sure I'd be the kind of husband you deserve," he told her, as honestly as he could.

She was silent for a long moment, watching as the grooms finished in the stables for the day. "My ma married my da when she was fifteen years old," she told him thoughtfully. "Bore him twelve children. Eight of us survived. My da was a drunk, and a mean one at that. A couple of pints, and he'd come home swinging his fists. Sometimes he'd drink all the money, and Ma'd have to make ends meet somehow so we could eat. He took my wages off me when I was new workin'. I didn't start savin' until I was older and I knew how to hide it from my da. But she stayed with him. He was her security, and she loved him in her way. I don't think you're the kind of man my father was, Samuel McAlister. I think you're a better man, and a life with you would be a better life than I should have a right to expect. But 'tis your choice, in the end."

He was looking at her again, with a look of astonishment this time, not because of her story, but because she might actually choose this life, choose him, though it was only out of necessity, not mutual affection. "I only got one bed," he blurted, as if that should make all the difference.

She blinked, looking surprised that he should feel the need to mention that. "If you don't want me sharin' it, I'll sleep on the floor," she offered. "I've done it before, I can do it again." A faint frown touched her brow as she considered him. "Sam ....you don't have to ask me if you don't want to. No matter what people tell you, or what threats have been made, you are your own man, and it's your life we're talkin' over here as much as mine."

He shrugged as if his life didn't really matter all that much. "Just reckoned it would be different, somehow. Been working here for years, trying to save up for a place of my own, but it never seems to happen. I ain't gonna lie to you. There've been some women, but no one I ever wanted to spend my life with." He looked out on the vast expanse of land that surrounded them, almost as far as the eye could, it seemed, until you reached the horizon.