“Lonely and melancholic mostly,” he said. “It is a land of rolling rolls, where the lakes are as deep as the mountains are tall, mist covers the land at twilight, where the moon is masked by eternal clouds and sunshine dimmed by rain. We Milesians are considered mad by most of our kin, for all our wars are merry and all our songs are sad.” Charity seemed to wilt, her ears drooping back.