And for all of that, the unique pony touches were to be seen everywhere: in the small heart and horseshoe decors wrought into the black iron fence work upon the sidewalk bordering the quays, as well as the frosted glass windowpanes of shops and restaurants and homes. Even the poorer districts where the workers of the city dwelled possessed a work-worn dignity that demanded respect. The streets were lined with greenery and well-maintained trees, cherry blossoms if Handy had to guess. They were small, easily maintained, and pretty in the spring time. Their presence, even now as bare skeletons of their former glory, broke the grey monotony of the flagstone paths and brick stone streets. The foul stench of the factory and industry that defined the far side of the bay barely reached the city, the smog and pollution gathered by teams of pegasi taken God only knew where else. A thankless job, but one whose benefits went without saying. A small sympathetic part of his heart hoped those poor bastards had some kind of protection for their poor lungs.