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Nhim has been making her way south from Nebraska-she'd rather head north towards her preferred climate, truth be told...but she also knows that food is more likely to be plentiful-not to mention easier to catch-towards the south, and right now, her stomach is the most pressing matter on her mind. Of course, there's still matter of finding a cave or the like that she can't get stuck in to make into a lair, and then outfitting it with a new hoard. For now, though? It's all about food.

She peers down at the landscape, her ears pricking forward as she spots an group of cattle wandering along. The dragon goes into a dive and easily slams into one as the rest of the herd flees, then, after a moment of covering her kill with her wings and looking around-old habits die hard-begins to eat. Despite being a ravenous giant carnivore, she'd actually welcome company. She hasn't run into many things that talk thus far.

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"Food isn't an issue-I'm still quite capable of hunting." She looks thoughtful as she peers around. "Preferably somewhere colder-my old territory was covered in snow and ice year-round. But my main issue is that this land is too flat."

"Ah - here there are no updrafts," Oliver notes.

Although it certainly didn't give her much trouble earlier.

"There aren't any caves," she says, shaking her head. "No places to perch, much less to rebuild a hoard. If I started collecting here, everything would likely vanish in a matter of days."

"A hoard?"

This could become worrying, but Oliver gives no indication of such. They've had enough miscommunication for one day.

"A hoard," she says, nodding. "A collection of my things-all dragons have one. Generally, it's made of treasure we've found or been given, but it can have other things as well-my mother was fond of collecting rocks. And in the north, we collected hides or rugs as well, to sleep on."

"There were some polar bears near the Cooper farm, if you are seeking some more hides. I myself know something of skinning animals."

Oliver is all about her obtaining a hoard that isn't of people's valuable possessions.

Just point her to the nearest semi-destroyed art gallery or museum and she'll be happy as a clam.

"Really?" she asks. "I'll have to find some form of payment, then. Will you take meat?"

Oliver can't imagine bear meat is very tasty. Not that this dampens the friendly expression on his face any.

"I am forbidden to accept payment for my services."

Hey, the settlers liked it just fine! (That, or the Little House books lied to the mun.)

"Odd," Nhim says, blinking. "So you don't practice any sort of trade? It's quite useful."

Oliver prefers his venison and rabbit, just the same.

He shrugs, expression amiable. "Trade is for men of the mortal world; service is for men who look to the immortal."

"If you insist," she says with a shrug, grunting a bit at the movement. The dragon adjusts her wings, swinging her head around to nose at her shoulder.

Oliver is wondering where they might find some rugs.

"Does your world have a name?"

"The land where I come from is Adesia. The world itself has no name; it is simply...the world."

"My world is the same.

"My land is the isle of Fremmanland. What little countryside is left is quite beautiful - many more hills than here, and much greener due to all the rain."

Beautiful in a rainy way, apparently.

"Mine, as I said, is made of snow and ice-and rock. But the lands to the south are far greener-there are even jungles in the far south." She blinks at him. "What happened to your countryside?"

Oliver frowns. "Progress. Hills have been blasted open in search of coal to run ships and trains. Entire forests leveled to create houses in Cardin city that are little better than slums. Mills belch foul smoke into the air that turns the very rain itself brown."

Nhim isn't sure what a train, but along with everything else, it sounds bad. "And your magic can't fix things, or at least lessen the damage somewhat?"

"Oh, we do what we can," Oliver hastens to add. "We fight the symptoms of the industrial age; we tend to the diseases of those who seek us, and I myself patrol fields in order to assure their fertility. However, the church can do little to interfere when matters of economy and politics are concerned."

"Something I find surprising, to be honest. I know of several lands where local religions are very heavily tied to all things in their rulership. But I approve of your attempts."

"Two hundred years ago, Fremmanland was much as you just described. But kings and Parliament wanted more power and, while the Church was mired in internal divisions, the worldly powers had separated themselves from the Church's edicts. And the public seemed quite fine with that. The Church does what it can to call back its people to the word of God."

Oliver relates this with as little value judgment as a history textbook. It happened, and his church is dealing with it - what's the point in bitching?

"Give it time, I suppose. Things always seem to move in cycles; rulership crumbles, or a religion does, and then it rises again, or otherwise adapts itself. They rarely die out entirely, at least."

"We are in the process of adapting - I hope. Who knows how events will unfold? Very rarely have any 'Sworn been visited by angels giving us glimpses of the future."

"'Very rarely', though. So I assume it does happen on occasion?"

"It does - most often in the ancient times, when the Church was young." A slight smile of amusement. "It seems our Lord feels no pressing need to 'hold the Church's hand', as it were.

"Is prophecy common among the peoples of your land?"

She nods. "Extremely. It goes in cycles. The forces of darkness and evil will rise up and overtake a land, or a religion will become corrupt and cruel, or a people will be driven out from their homeland, or some other crisis will happen-but usually there's some sort of ancient prophecy other another, hidden away somewhere, that tells of how someone will rise up and right it all. And they do. Then order is restored and the balance shifts again until the next cycle."