Even the grass we have at our home in Leá Monde is more softer now that I have found a good home in Erica. Her world, my home is as comforting as it's people, all browns and deep greens and burgandy, smoldering like the sunset with a warmth that comes from somewhere much farther within than the heat of it's coming era, an era in which the people form a neo plateau, wrinkles smoothed and flaws steadily being ironed. This thought too holds a taste of the earth, but aged in the darkness as liquor, mellowed and yet still possessed of a sharp edge as people surely would never forget those who once ruled , fell then vanished. Memory became whispers, whispers became legend, and the ghosts of a fallen society returned to the earth to haunt the corners of the old ones that still linger and remember all that was, has been and have peered into the future of Erica has seen a glimpse of what may be to come to pass. I need not to go deep to find the good people that remain, the honest people that lend helping hands with guiding words to those that might lose their footing in a land that is new to them. They have become in their own ways, that fabled lighthoused often referenced in biblical memoirs and old tongue that lead people to safety when all other forces saught to do them harm. I have experienced such people and their kindness, and to those who have helped the one called " Ashbourne " , you know who you are. This is my thanks to those, so...thank you.
Ashbourne.