Across the Green Grass Fields (Wayward Children, #6)(19)
“Even if they’re my elder?” asked Chicory nervously.
“Even then,” said Aster. She turned her gaze on Regan. “We won’t deny you the Fair, any more than we’d force you to go and see the Queen before you must. You have every right to see and experience and enjoy the world you’re going to be asked to save. See its wonders. Taste its bounty. But understand that there may be some there who think you deserve better than a roving herd of unicorn farmers, and want you to go with them. Some may not want to take ‘no’ for an answer. You’ll need to be alert and aware of your surroundings at all times.”
Regan blinked slowly. “Won’t you be there?” she asked.
“No. I’ll be with Chicory’s father, my husband, and the others intend to go courting. There may be foals or marriages from this Fair, which is just more reason we must go, even with you in our custody. Do you understand?”
Regan, who still had only the vaguest understanding of how the centaurs arranged themselves socially, and who had yet to see a male centaur, nodded anyway. It was the sort of question adults expected to have answered in the affirmative, and asking questions wouldn’t help anything.
Aster looked relieved. “Good. I’m glad.” She trotted over to Chicory, gripping the sides of her daughter’s head. “You are a worthy daughter, and more than suited to being companion to a human. You’ll do me proud at the Fair, and your father will praise your name.” She planted a kiss on Chicory’s forehead.
“Ew, Mom.” Chicory wiped the kiss away with one hand. “We’ll behave ourselves. We’re not babies.”
“Regan is, though, where the Fair is concerned.”
Regan frowned. “I’ve exhibited at the State Fair before,” she said. “This can’t be that different.”
“I don’t know what a State Fair is, but I’d wager it’s very different from the Fair,” said Aster. “Come along. The others will be almost there.” She trotted out of the longhouse. Chicory and Regan exchanged a look, before Regan shrugged and boosted herself onto Chicory’s back, settling easily. Chicory trotted after her mother, breaking into a canter once they were safely outside, and there was room to run.
On an ordinary day, room to run and no chores to do would have led to Chicory racing away across the fields while Regan held on for dearest life, the centaur’s hair slapping the human repeatedly in the face, both of them laughing with delight at the simple joy of being alive, and young, and together in a world that was better when not experienced in isolation. Anything with enough brain to know itself as an individual will reach out to others, looking for companionship, looking for other eyes with which to see the world. Regan had never really been lonely—Laurel had always been there to provide companionship, if not true support—but she had still been alone. In Chicory, she had finally found a friend who liked her for who she was, not for how well she fit an arbitrary list of attributes and ideals. Chicory, on the other hand, had been lonely, growing up surrounded only by adults, with no one her own age to share her questions and concerns, or who was experiencing the world at the same rate she was. Together, they were perfect. It was no surprise to anyone who saw them for more than a few seconds that they were inseparable.
None of the adults had waited, not even Aster, although the dust from her passage hung in the air, marking the direction she had gone. Regan tightened her grip on Chicory’s shoulders, anticipating what would happen next. Chicory broke into a gallop, hooves chewing up distance like a unicorn chewed its cud, and Regan whooped, delighted. Chicory wasn’t as fast as she’d be when she was grown, but she was faster than any human, and sitting astride her back sometimes felt like the next best thing to flying.
Despite their head start, the rest of the herd was no match for an excited preteen afraid of missing out on the most exciting event of the season. Chicory caught up to them in short order, slowing to prevent her hoofbeats from frightening the unicorns, who were already uneasy after being curried, scrubbed, and rounded up for the long walk away from their familiar fields. The road to the Fair was hard-pressed dirt, worn smooth by generations of marching hooves, long and gently winding.
Chicory passed her mother and the others, trotting up to the front of the group and falling into an easy canter next to Pansy, who looked over and smiled indulgently at the two girls.
“Don’t you look fine today?” she asked. “Any special occasion?”
“The Fair,” said Chicory, indignant as only an almost-teen being teased by an adult can manage. “I’m going to get baked apples and share them with Regan.”
“So long as you share,” said Pansy. She reached into her vest, producing two small leather bags with bulging sides, and passed them over. “You both worked with the flock this season. Here’s your share of the profits so far.”
Chicory stared at Pansy with wide, round eyes, clutching the pouch to her chest. Regan, who still wasn’t completely sure the centaurs used money, undid the knot on hers and peered curiously inside at the flat copper coins.
“They’re like really big pennies,” she said in a bewildered tone. “What’s this for?”
“People expect you to pay for things at the Fair,” said Pansy. “Chicory’s old enough to go off on her own this year, and you’re the same age, so we can’t expect you to sit idly by while she’s running around getting into mischief. Not that we want you sitting on your own, and we all have things to be doing.”