"I'm fairly familiar with the textbook version of the Dark Ages," Effy concedes, though she's under no illusion that the textbooks cover the true experience of the time. There's only so much that can be kept of history, especially from the times when it was harder to document, to keep records. But even now, Effy thinks that there's so much of any time that gets lost in the years and decades to come. Because not everything is deemed worthy of being a memory to keep.

Because there's only so much that the mind can hold before it starts to spill over and away. Little details, like the snails that slowly drag their heavy loads, easily spotted on the trails leading to Harley's house. Or the way that new paths fork out from the brooks after a heavy rain. Things like the smell of the smoke and petrol as one makes their way to the center of the city.

Things that are hard to put into words, that can't be captured in pictures, and that will one day fade entirely into obscurity, unless Mother Nature so happens to preserve them.

"And somewhat familiar with Northumbria as well," she adds, her eyes taking on a keener interest. "It's certainly about as safe here as a place can be while supporting such a diverse population. I've hardly ever heard of people like us, people from other worlds, passing away here." She leans her head against the trunk of the tree. "So, is being a niece of the king something you like to talk about? Or should I be filing that away as background knowledge?"