fingernails thorn trees my fickle heart too; so many things in this sad world grow back
In the weeks and months since Nuala's arrival in the nexus - many of which she spent living in the nexus, until her brother's acquisition of the autumn fort - she has elected, by and large, not to ask her own questions. It seemed more prudent to avoid drawing that amount of attention, to establish herself more discreetly. Time passes and things change, so here she is (alone, or ostensibly so; please disregard the centaur stallion who obligingly carried the princess here and will be remaining within easy reach for her safety until such time as she wants to go home).
Clearing her throat to draw attention, Nuala asks, "What, if anything, do you owe your history?"