Handy was not what one may call well-travelled, at least not back on Earth, but he had been to London, seen Barcelona, Rome, Berlin, and was intimately familiar with the cities of his own homeland. In his time in this world, he had seen the gleaming spires of Canterlot, the rugged homes of the griffons of Firthengart, and the deceptive simplicity of the mountain-clinging structures of High Town in Skymount that so emulated King Johan's castle. He had seen the dour streets of Black Port, the dire and sepulchral opulence of Lepidopolis, the canyon city ruled by winter in the Greenwoods, and the unspeakable majesty of the Whisperwood. He had seen bigger cities, grander cities, older cities, more elegant, more storied. He had seen taller buildings, grander streets with more people, and more pleasant smells.