I don't mind saying that because it's completely true.I don't mind saying that because it's completely true. My mother was a good whore, too, and a woman devoted to her husband and her daughter. We travelled around the southern continent on a tented wagon. There were four wagons in our train and a total of seventeen people. We didn't even have a name for ourselves, really; we were just "the people." There were nine cities we visited on our course, the same course, year after year. My father was a merchant trader and was very good at picking out what one city had that the next one down the line would need, even after a year's absence. My mother, with her deep red skin, slanted eyes and straight, black hair, was exotic in many of the cities and men would flock to her like flies on butter. Much the same they did with me many years ago. We were a friendly bunch most of the time but we tended to take it very carefully on the road. A good plan considering how many brigands ther were out there interested in lightening our loads. The greatest travel we ever took was from Ticonary to Emti, a rough road through a mountain pass that usually took twenty days or thereabouts. We weren't to know it, but the Maple Campaign to the north of us had driven a barbarian horde of Centaurs into the mountain range for refuge. These were no gentle Centaurs of the upper valleys. No, these were the Gespil Centaurs, those small, powerful, magicless Centaur warriors who still plague those lands. |