Ali Baba threw his satchel over his shoulder and glanced around the room, making sure he didn't forget anything.
He was finally leaving.
And although he had to admit Arslan had been nothing but a kind and generous host for them, he itched to be done with the palace.
A lot had happened there, and he didn't want to brood over that. He just wanted to move on and journey again with everyone.
The thought actually took him by surprise.
Like any other street urchin, Ali Baba had dreamed of living in a castle. It was an impossible dream, he knew. Still, for those who had nothing, dreams were the only thing that came for free.
Now, to think he would choose a journey through the rough desert and sandstorms over that, it came as a shock.
When did he begin to appreciate traveling? When did he grow to dislike staying in one place?
