"Thirty six. Our average life expectancy might be ten or even twenty years longer than yours, but life never really follows statistics...."
"You're 36...?"
She merely nodded.
In pony years or human years?
"It isn’t that uncommon for our kind." chuckled Mrs. Scribble "The very first signs of age usually start to show in our 50's or even 60’s... Though, I probably won’t live that long."
What does she mean?
Mrs. Scribble was silent most of the time, only occasionally asking questions about humans and our dead culture. And I was really happy that I got to speak with someone who doesn’t think I’m actually retarded. It almost felt like she cared...
Dead culture?
I brought her back into the house and seated her into the chair with tiny wheels which she left by the garden door. Only now I noticed there’s a tiny joystick for riding around. There’s no electricity on it though, so it’s probably magic operated as quite a bit of pony tech.
I’d take advantage of that.
No more conflicts, no more problems. I thought.
Boy, was I wrong about that but who could have known back then…
In pony years or human years?
What does she mean?
Dead culture?
I’d take advantage of that.
What does that mean?