Famine was thinking the same thing. Pollution was probably the only one with whom he could have had this conversation; War would laugh, more than likely, and DEATH didn't precisely lend himself to bonding. Pestilence he could talk to, he supposed, but he hadn't seen the retired Horseman in a long time. Since Famine hardly spent much time discussing his thoughts with humans, this was the first actual conversation he had had for a few years. It was somewhat ironic; he usually hid his emotions beneath dry, intelligent remarks and the hint of a smile, but the instant he saw another like him, he was immediately giving voice to the things that had been on his mind for years. Even though he preferred to stay reserved and detached for the most part, it was good to have someone with whom he could be honest, who would understand.

"We were created to be their downfall, and we've reached the point where we have to keep up with them, cater to what they need...or don't, rather," he added dryly. He shook his head slightly and sighed, watching the road before speaking again. "It's part of the job, though it's never been necessary to an extent such as this before. You stay on top of things, you change to fit human society, or you fall behind. It happened to Pestilence. It could, theoretically, happen to any of us again."

The thought of retiring far from appealed to Famine. He did enjoy the job - there was a craft to it, an art. Still, at the root of it, he couldn't imagine himself doing anything else because he had been created that way. His life was based on the job, and it was something like never having a day off. It was better than being trapped doing something he hated, he supposed. But with humans doing part of the work for him, his own existence was necessary but the root of his work a bit superfluous, and it made for restlessness.