Euphemistically Yours

To avoid another foolish discussion regarding whether a gambeson was equivalent to pants or not, breakfast ended right then when I stood up. After all, Eu was still wearing pants under her new armor, so did it really matter? She was pleased with her new outfit and looked like a step in the right direction.

Unfortunately, there was still the question about concealing her hair. No matter what she wore, her hair color was sure to draw attention. Donning a bonnet would look silly matched with her armor, so we had to find some other solution. For the time being, Constance tied a scarf around Eu's head like a bandanna. It would serve until we found something better. Furthermore, Eu seemed to like the strange hat too and started making funny poses and mysterious noises to match.

Once Constance approved of the final product, we proceeded through our usual morning routines. Grit prepared Honey for a ride while Eu spent her time making another quartz crystal using her supply of sand. I still couldn’t fathom what the purpose of that was, and she still wasn’t answering any questions on that front.

“All ready?” I asked as Grit approached, walking Honey on a lead line.

“Yes, Father,” he nodded at me.

As his teacher, I inspected the saddle and the straps, expecting and finding no problems. After that, we set off as a group. Since Honey was coming with us, I couldn’t simply walk alongside. To fit my status, I had to ride. It wasn't my choice, but social conventions dictate behavior. That left Grit and Eu walking in front, both lightly armed and armored.

To match his own gambeson, Grit had his leather boots, but Eu was wearing her wooden “carrot boots” again. After all, the cloth women’s shoes we had loaned to her would give away the rest of her outfit. For the time being, clogs were better than bare feet, but we’d need to buy her some better footwear.

Comparing the two, Eu’s head barely reached Grit’s collar bone, but her relative weight was far less. She was bird-boned and thin as a rail. Despite that, when she was wearing armor, the disparity wasn’t so obvious. Combined with the suspicious bandanna and an evil grin, nobody was likely to bother her.

“Deft, I have a question.” She looked back at me as we were walking.

“That was a perfect sentence!” I congratulated her. “... but call me ‘Father’ or it will be considered rude.”

“Father, I have a question.”

“Yes, go ahead.”

“Constance said many loud words at me.”

“Say 'mother' and, yes, she did …”

“I didn’t understand all the words.”

“Ahh…”

“What should I do?”

“Umm… don’t steal sweetcakes?”

“I already know tha-aa-aat!” Although, from her expression, she already had some sort of plan around that obstacle.

“Then, what’s your question?”

“What do I do to stop her loud words?”

“Hmm… you want to apologize to her?”

“You mean, say ‘I’m sorry’? That stops loud words?”

“Well… ‘I’m sorry’ means, ‘I won’t do it again’. Will you do it again?”

As expected, she didn’t answer the most simple of questions. Instead, she pursed her lips in thought.

“Well… WILL you do it again?”

“Will will do it again!”

“What?” Grit had stayed out of the discussion until now. I suppose her confusing response rattled him. He continued walking, but he was busy staring at her.

“Will! He will do it.”

For a moment, I was lost as well, but eventually, I figured out her meaning. “Oh, you mean Will? The young guardsman from yesterday? He’s going to steal sweetcakes?”

She grinned. “If he steals sweetcakes, it won’t be me!”

I shook my head at her. “How is that related? Will YOU do it again?”

“For now..." She paused before continuing, "No-oo-oo!”

She’d used that same three-tone unfairly-accused negative again. In other words, she was lying and it was only a matter of time. At this point, I hung my head in exasperation. “I see that you are unrepentant. The next time you steal more sweetcakes, you can expect loud words from me too.”

She puffed out her cheeks, and then turned to Grit. “What do you say?”

Grit stumbled in his surprise. “Ehh? I’m not stealing sweetcakes for you! Leave me out of this!”

“No! What do you say to loud words?”

“Huh?”

“You are Constance's … son. What do you say when she has loud words?”

“Before any of that, you should call her ‘Mother!’ You have to be respectful!”

Eu grumbled at him. “Respect-full. Then what?”

“You're asking ... what should you say when Mother is scolding you?”

When she nodded, Grit gave me a questioning look, but I motioned for him to go ahead. “Well ... it’s important to agree with her. Whatever she says is always right. So, whenever she pauses, you should say things like, ‘Yes, mother’ or ‘I understand.’ That usually helps.”

“Yes, mother?”

He nodded at her.

“I understand?”

He nodded again. "If she's really angry, it might help to bow your head or kneel down."

“I will do this! Thank you!”

“Are you planning ahead for the next time?”

She shot him a wicked grin, but didn’t give an answer. In other words, the answer was obvious.

Grit and I both sighed in unison. As he walked, he shot me another questioning look, but I agreed with his assessment. His advice for Eu might even help eventually. If Eu learned to act as if she was contrite, that would go a long way. Just performing the act might someday lead her to a change in heart.

For a while, we made our way on without speaking. Honey seemed to know where we were going, and she had a jaunty step. There were several different yards that sold horses around town, but I had my favorite. It was also the same location that we’d go to for medical advice whenever one of our animals fell ill.

In fact, Honey was looking forward to our destination. We were going to visit the place where she was born and raised. She’d also foaled there several times before my father had purchased her. A young, breeding mare wasn’t the best choice for a squire’s warhorse. Instead, you wanted an older, wiser animal. Besides, a horse's price went down with age, so it was only sensible.

Unfortunately, by the time Father had bought Honey, she was beyond her best breeding years. That meant a low chance of more foals - so no hope of income from producing more children. Now, after all these years, she was getting even older. I wasn’t sure exactly how old she was now, but my guess was four or even five hands. Strange that I was older than her, but she'd be gone before me.

Regardless, Honey loved the trading yard because she knew she’d be treated well there. The staff loved her and her sweet disposition. In fact, some of her children and grandchildren might be running around in the horse pens. If anything, Honey was one of the yard’s biggest success stories.

Better yet, Honey would get to meet some new friends. Most horses get nervous when meeting other horses, but not Honey. She knew she was better than them, so she’d simply stand outside the paddock until the herd got curious enough to come investigate.

Unfortunately, Eu didn’t have the same attitude. “What is a horse merchant?”

“Someone that buys and sells horses.”

“YOU ARE SELLING HONEY???”

“Of course not!”

Eu put one hand over her heart, apparently relieved. “You are buying a horse?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Why? You have three horses, but only ride Honey.”

“The other two are mules, not horses. They are for work, not war.”

“Mules? Not horses? What is a mule?”

“It’s a mix between a horse and a donkey. If the mother is a horse, it’s a mule. If the mother is a donkey, then it’s a hinny.”

“What is a donkey?”

“It’s a … uhh … it’s like a horse, but not.” Once more, I was left mystified. Where on earth had Euphemism come from? Had she never seen a donkey before?

“Donkey carrot makes horse have baby … mule? Horse carrot makes baby hinny?”

I scanned the sky in despair. Why did she have to ask the worst questions in the worst possible way? “Yes. But we don’t talk about carrots.”

“You eat carrots!”

Grit smirked and turned away to snicker.

“That’s different! That’s a REAL carrot. You are talking about… uhh… symbolic carrots. A proper little girl shouldn’t be talking about OR pointing at people’s carrots.”

“Am I a ‘proper little girl’?”

“Definitely not!”

“Then, I can talk about carrots!”

“No you can’t!”

“Not even horse carrots?”

“No, not even horse carrots.”

“Then, are horses people?”

I laughed and gave Honey a pat on her shoulder. “Of course! Horses are people!”

“But you said you don’t buy or sell people ... or DO YOU!?”

Her finger singled me out as the target of her accusation. Apparently, I was already guilty by my own admission? Sadly, I didn’t have a ready response.

“Err…” I sighed and hung my head. How had I ended up here? Had she intentionally led me into this trap?

“Why is Deft whimpering?” She asked Grit.

He gave her a long look before answering. “It's because of you.”

At this, she grinned, holding her head up high. “I’m a proper little girl!”

“Pfft!” Grit choked in horror, which only made her smile grow wider.

If I was a painter, I would have titled her portrait at that moment, “Euphoria Victorious.”