Things are sweeter when they're lost. I know--because once I wanted something and got it. It was the only thing I ever wanted badly, and when I got it it turned to dust in my hand.
P
ravda arrives as a historian, as a scholar. He has taken no particular interest in Solterra aside from the obvious: that the land has been war-torn for the majority of its existence. He had been born in this land too young to have experienced any of it firsthand; but bitterness is a deep well. As he walks through the streets, he notices they are quiet. The last Sovereign had arrived with a flurry of activity; with tournaments and festivities. But, perhaps that is only because Pravda arrives early in the morning. It is not as if Orestes were Raum; his absence does not leave the same quality of power vacuum, at least from Pravda’s limited understanding.
Walking down the streets of Solterra, it feels increasingly as if he is a voyager to an alien realm. Nothing is familiar to him. The stucco buildings or the heat of the day. He has visited the Court in the past, of course, but it will never retain a sense of… friendliness. He does not intend to remain long, wishing only to stop at the small library and perhaps observe the city square—
But there is a striking woman stopped in his path. Pravda clears his throat. She had been walking ahead of him all this time, but her halting seems abrupt. “Excuse me, ma’am—are you alright?” He might not have said anything at all, if not for the fact he understands some things he cannot learn from books, and she might be a valuable primary source.
