Your heart pounded in your throat as your feet carried you up the thousands of steps around the belly of the mountain.

Everywhere you looked there were mighty lime trees whose low-hanging branches shrouded the island in a veil of green. One couldn't see in from the outside, while your eyes could see everything from inside the island.

The sound of the waves mingled with the singing of the old trees. Stone shrines and stone towers lined the steps. Colourful flowers washed between brown wood and lush earth.

Jin followed you at a safe distance, giving you as much space as you needed for someone who might soon be reunited with a family long thought dead. Thoughts raced through your mind as the step took you higher.

What would you do first when familiar faces looked at you?

Did you even remember the language your mother had spoken to you?

Your tongue was heavy, all it had known for years was Mongolian. Fear choked your throat but excitement fuelled you.

Your mother's hair appeared before your inner eye, the sound of her laughter echoed in your ears. All at once, you took each step faster until you were running up the heights.

On the left, the cliffs opened up a view of the sea, while on the right, natural plains appeared in the mountain. Rock became stone slabs on which colourful images danced.

Flowers formed symbols on the stone that you recognised from the days when the people of your people had pricked ink under their skin.

"It's supposed to bring us luck.", your mother had said when she held you close to her in the darkest night to drive away the cold. "One day you will get some too. The gods will protect you. And if not, your people will always recognise you. We protect each other."

That night, for the first time, you slept peacefully on the Mongol ship, not thinking about the village that had been left in ruins. You had been a child then, barely old enough to understand that you would never return home.

Now, as a grown woman, you remembered how your mother had trembled. Whether from fear or the cold of the sea, you didn't know.

As if you were a little girl again, you picked up the trail of images and followed them through the trees and flowers. A plateau of stone opened up on the belly of the mountain, created by the hands of men and large enough to accommodate wooden huts.

They were simple homes, just enough space to house a family under one roof. There were seven huts in a circle, far enough apart to set up a market on the plateau. Some of the stalls had not yet been completely cleared out.

As if under a spell, you stopped in front of one. A wooden crate had shattered on the floor. Fruit lay among the debris.

Your fingers trembled as you reached out to pick it up and bring it to your lips. You remembered this fruit. It came from the village where you were taken from.

How had it come to this place?

Jin stopped at the edge of the tiny village, if you could even call it that. With one hand resting on his katana, he watched you from a safe distance. This moment belonged to you and he knew he had no place in it. At the same time, he wanted to stay close enough in case any unpleasant surprises ventured out of the houses.

With the fruit clutched in both hands, you ventured to the edge of the plateau. Something felt strange. There was something else, something that called to you like a message that had been left to be found.

One of the huts felt particularly familiar. The door was less a door and more a long strip of fabric that had been folded twice and nailed into the frame. A pattern ran through the red.

Suddenly a memory flashed through the darkness of your mind. Your mother had worn fabric like this when she was abducted. She had wrapped you in her skirt in the hope that you would not have to see the horror.

But you had heard it. And somehow felt it too. Only her warmth had stopped you from crying. Other children had done it.

They had never arrived on the Mongol ships.

The beat of your heart was in your throat as you put a hand on the wood of the door, you had to take a shuddering breath. The hut was empty, as was the rest.

The shelves had been cleared, no chest of possessions had been left behind. A light breeze swept over the stones, brushing the hair from your face.

"I'm sorry.", Jin's voice scratched the back of your head.

Smiling softly, you knelt down next to a fireplace. Bundles of herbs dried around it. You could tell from the ashes that it had been days since the last fire.

Two blankets lay neatly folded ready. As if someone had expected you to come by. Or hoped so.

Your eyes wandered over the bundles of herbs. Everything you needed for a full stock was there, tied together in such a way that you could make a certain ointment or medicine from one bundle.

There were strings under the blanket above your heads. Not so long ago, the house must have been full of herbs to dry. The smell was still in the air.

"This was a doctor's house.", Jin realised.

With a saddened smile, you rose again to walk towards a small door at the back of the house that led down into a valley in the centre of the mountain.

"The house was my mother's.", you said and offered him your hand.

Confused, he tilted his head, but took your hand and walked down the steep steps.

"How do you know?", he asked as shadows spread over you.

Green moss stretched over rocks and stone. Trees gave way. Instead, the crater hidden inside the mountain was overgrown with countless herbs and flowers. A small river ran in a circle through the colours and the green.

"Sometimes you just know.", you said and stopped in the middle to look at the sky above you. "Here they were. I'm too late."