Arda's eyes went briefly out of focus as he considered. It was true that he had seen his share of human ruin. He had walked the dirty, shattered streets of Albuquerque, Phoenix, Las Vegas before trekking to the coast, where he found the motherlode of human artifacts. California was where Arda had spent the most time in one place - so beautiful and diverse were its strange places. He remembered with a twinge of sadness the place where he had raised his two children, where Zeeta had given birth and fallen ill quickly in childbirth. El Pueblo de la Reina de Los Angeles. He had managed to read the name on an ancient piece of paper. The city of the Queen of Angels. And yet, Arda had found no angels there. Only mountainous piles of rubble and wear, a true testament to the fall of the humans.
"Indeed. Human ruins have never ceased to amaze me. I have seen many magnificent places, mounds of rubble that may have once touched the tips of the skies. I grew up so far south of here and I have seen countless cities in my travels north. I grew up in an old human town. It was ancient, more so than many of the ruins around here. But it was by far not the most interesting. My birthplace is, frankly, not special to me. But... west of here, I think... And far south too. A city so magnificent, the strangest ruins I have ever seen. Los Angeles, I think I remember it being called. Overrun by dogs and strange creatures, but the ruin stretched out for miles and miles."
He paused to catch his breath, remembering. He still had many scars on his feet from where he had stepped in the old shattered glass that seemed to make the streets of Los Angeles shine in the sun - a cruel sign of glamor in a city of such decay.
"I raised children there, I think. It was a valley, a basin more like... Books, jewels, strange metals, glass that made rainbows on the ground... One in particular place. La iglesia, I think it was called... They were mountainous ruins, definitely. That was where the rainbow-colored glass was most brilliant, I think. I think it was art. The glass made pictures... I kept one with me for years - it was a fragment of a larger picture, I think. A fellow far older than me called them el mosaico. Mine was of a strange human, I think. Or I think it must have been a human, for I never saw such a thing before. I traded it for two horses and three goats, if I remember. Miraculous what a tiny piece can get you..." He trailed on, thinking it over. The iglesia, the church, was even more intriguing to him than the ruins of the skyscrapers. He could rarely get close to such strange ruins, for the glass and the metal on the ground was still very likely to scrape paws. He had heard of a wolf blinding himself in such an incident, and had never bothered to go close. But he had denned in a building with such stained glass before, and it had fascinated him.
Shyah. It's fine. Short es muy bueno. My posts are always too boring. I ramble as much as Arda.
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