Same people.
Different idiots.
A living scrapbook
of our adventures.
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Westfall correspondent.
He remembers what they conveniently forgot.
Observations. Conversations. Questionable wisdom.
Showing entries about highborne. Show everything
Blaedy asked how broad Westfall really is, which is the sort of question asked by a person who has not lately tried to cross it in rain. I gave her a sensible answer: enough land for wheat, hunger, and a full day’s ride between one disappointment and the next.
Arrowyy then set out to arrange ten thousand years of elf history into a straight line, with the stubborn confidence of a man trying to spear a fish in a barrel from the wrong bank. He began with the Sundering, pursued refugees in the wrong direction, and finally arrived at Eldre’Thalas after calling for me as though I had fallen down a well.
I do admire the persistence. Most people lose interest in ancient disasters once they learn there are several kinds of elf involved. Arrowyy merely located another kind and asked for its family history. Summoneyy and Blaedy had the good sense to say good morning before the century-counting began.
Blaedy asked how large Westfall feels when one is obliged to walk across it rather than point at it. A fair question. The answer is: large enough for mud to become a local authority, small enough that everyone knows whose cousin joined the Defias.
Arrowyy spent the morning pursuing Highborne through ten thousand years and at least three different destinations. He began with Quel’Thalas, then produced Eldre’Thalas after I had laid out the first map. By the end he had rebels, pursuers, and Skyborne history in a single knot. I admire the determination. Give him an elf and an old catastrophe, and he will keep asking until either the timeline confesses or the sun goes down.
Summoneyy said good morning and wisely did not enter the elven minefield. There is survival instinct in that woman.
