Answaen had seen many things come and go in the long years since the glaciers retreated and the world she'd been born into all but vanished. The same could be said for her Master, who had lived even longer.
In Shubnalu's preserve, however, the ground was littered with traces of times long past, and the air itself carried scents that hadn't tickled her nose in hundreds of years.
Much of the preserve lay dormant in the winter. Neat rows of vegetables had been trimmed back and covered with straw while bronze trellises that had been bent by centuries of use awaited yet another year's growth to do their duty again.
