Fairy Godmother

It didn't take long for him to get bored; there wasn't much to look at. The high walls of the stall cut off his view of anything outside, so he was left with the rough wooden walls, the old bucket on a peg, the manger, and the straw-strewn dirt floor to stare at. The view palled pretty quickly.

He closed his eyes, and listened. Roosters crowed occasionally or a rooster did; he didn't know enough about chickens to tell if there was more than one. Hens clucked, and beyond that, he could hear several sorts of birdsong and jackdaws calling. And someone humming, someone female. He couldn't imagine a Witch humming under her breath, so it must be yet another servant.

His stomach growled. It had been a long time since yesterday's lunch. He buried his nose in the water bucket, and then snorted and choked as the water went up his nose.

It took several tries before he figured out how to drink as a donkey.

The water eased his hunger temporarily, but what began to creep in on him was another sense, so much sharper that it might have been an entirely new one. He could smell everything!

The straw under his feet, for instance, strong and strangely appetizing. The damp earth under the straw. Green growing things, a smell which began to tease him mercilessly with need. Baking bread, which drove him mad with wanting it. The scent of roasting meat which, oddly, was faintly nauseating. A whiff of honey, which made his mouth water.

He'd never actually missed a meal in his life before this. He was behind by two, now.

Could you eat straw, if you were a donkey? He strained at the rope and reins holding his head to the manger, but they were tight, and so were the knots. The straw was just out of reach.

Damn them!

Could he bite through the bonds holding him?

He gave it a try, but the leather was tough and wouldn't yield to his teeth. And the additional lead-rope was thick; even if he could get through the reins, he didn't think he could chew through the rope.

He almost gave up, but the thought of the Witch's smirk galvanized him. He started in on the rope. At least it was something to chew.

Elena heard Randolf laugh, and looked up from her writing. 'What's so funny?' she asked.

'He's chewing on the ever-renewing rope,' Randolf replied, with unconcealed glee. 'Oh, I know it's not that funny, but I can't wait for the moment when he figures out that however many strands he breaks, they always get replaced.'

Sometimes Randolf shows his origins a little too clearly to be comfortable, she thought. And the personality traits he picked up from his previous owners. It was like the wicked Sorceress to whom he had belonged to take delight in the pain of others.

She kept her tone light, however; there was no point in rebuking Randolf, as he wouldn't understand why he was being chided. 'I think it will be more interesting to see how many meals he misses before he gives in,' she replied.

'You ought to let me give him a good hiding,' Hob said from the door. She turned her head to see him standing there with his arms full of clean linens. She wondered how long he had been there.

'I'm not going to kill him with kindness; he's already had much too much spoiling in his life, and I've no desire to reinforce that. But I told you before, and I will repeat it, there will be no beatings,' she said adamantly. 'It will just make him feel martyred and justified. Think, Hob — if you beat him, he'll be certain that he is in the right. Can't you see that? No, we have to do this the hard way. Nothing to make him feel that we are worse than he is. Everything to make him see that our way is the better way.'

'Hmph,' Robin said from behind Hob, his arms full of clean clothing. 'Spare the rod and spoil the child is what my old father used to say.'

Elena pursed her lips and frowned. 'But he's not a child. Not by our count of years, anyway. No, the lessons he learns have to come from his pain, things that he essentially brings on himself, not from anything we actively do to him.'

She returned to writing her part in the tale of Stancia's daughter thus far. She already knew, thanks to another volume that was writing itself down in the library, that Prince Julian had passed the second of his tasks, freeing a fox whose tail had been caught in a log. It was not just any fox, of course, but he was not to know that, and the Fairy Godmother who was responsible for that task did not elaborate on just what sort of 'fox' it had been. Prince Octavian was nowhere to be found at the moment, but she wasn't worried. There wasn't much in Phaelin's Wood that could harm a fully armed man the size of Octavian, though by now he was surely getting tired, unkempt, and rather hungry.

Now, if he ran across a segment of road where an 'All Forests Are One' spell had been put in place and was still active, there was no telling what he might run into. And, of course, there was always the chance that an evil magician would get wind of his wanderings and intercept him. But that was out of Elena's hands now; Karelina was back in her place, and what happened to Octavian was largely up to her.

And when she began to feel a little pity for him she just thought of his stone-cold expression as he looked right past her and moved on. No, he deserved what he got, and like Alexander, the end of his punishment was in his own hands.

She finished her chronicle and fanned at the ink to dry it. 'I think it'll be tomorrow before he gives up,' she said, consideringly. 'And at the end of six days, I'll have to give him a day as a man, you know.'

'Hmm. Dangerous, that,' Hob said. 'And Madame, we're not much help if he decides to attack you.'

'I know; I've planned for that,' she replied. 'At least, I hope I have.'