You know who you are, even if I might forget some of you. Those who ask me to forget that old thing already, as it’s been years, we have all moved on. Those who ask me to “put the politics aside”.
Maybe you think three years, or five, or twelve, is a short time, the limit of human memory, after which things should be forgotten and all relationships built anew.
Me, I come from a line of people who have held a grudge for generations, for hundreds of years. Eight hundred and seventy eight years, almost to the day today, to be exact.(1)
We can smile and be diplomatic when necessary, and we can choose which reds to shoot first when fire is opened on the field. We are, and I am, pragmatic. How pragmatic exactly, if it really comes to that, most of you who read this have no idea.
But I am not forgiving.
You held my husband’s kin in slavery. You broke my Republic. You abducted my favorite cousin. You killed my Chief. You helped take Skarkon and Krirald.
If you cannot return to me what was lost, at least make amends before you ask me to forget.(1) Well, to be as exact as I can. Clan records are not perfect, you know, because reasons some deem unreasonable to carry grudges over. Some of this stuff is barely more than a legend now, details of it having had to be transferred by means punishable by death for quite some time.