Free Handbook for Dragon Slayers by Merrie Haskell Page B

once.
    â€œOh, Tilda,” Judith said again, and started to cry in earnest.
    â€œThat dragon might have been too young to have fire,” I said, “but it was clearly old enough to eat horses. And maybe people.”
    â€œThat’s not its fault! That’s just its nature ,” Judith said. “Like how baby goats need to climb. No one teaches them that. They don’t do it because they’re good or evil. They just climb.”
    I squinted, thinking on the nature of the dragons in the stories of the saints. Saints had no trouble knowing dragons were evil.
    I kept looking behind us, hoping we’d spy Parz’s grinning face, but we didn’t. But we could not in earnestness consider going back. My foot could not have withstood it.
    When we reached the wide Rhine, we turned upriver, hopefully toward Upper Folkstown.
    â€œWe should find a place to eat and rest,” Judith said.
    â€œWith what money?”
    â€œI could sell my hair,” Judith said.
    I considered, hands tapping the dullish eating knife at my belt. Hers wasn’t very long, not reaching even to the middle of her back. She’d had a fever a few years ago, and it had been cut off then.
    â€œWe’ll sell mine. More money.”
    Judith’s eyes went wide. “Your mother will be so angry if you do that. I can’t let you.”
    â€œWhy will she be angry?” I asked.
    â€œWell, she deplores women wearing false hair, for one thing—”
    â€œThat’s because she deplores the fact that it’s cut off of dead people, I think.”
    â€œYes, but. What are you going to do when you get back to Alder Brook with short hair? You’ll have to buy some dead-people hair, then. And thus Princess Isobel will be angry.”
    â€œI would think she’d rather we didn’t starve, in the long run,” I said. Which would be true. My mother was a pragmatist in many ways. Judith wasn’t wrong, though. My mother would also be angry, and the option of not wearing my hair in long braids wouldn’t be an option, because that was not what princesses did.
    I almost said, “Good thing I’m not going back to Alder Brook, then.” But I bit my tongue and handed Judith the knife.
    â€œAre you sure ?”
    â€œJust go gently,” I said.
    The knife was so dull, it took forever to saw through my thick braids, and each section of hair seemed to pull exceptionally hard before it was severed. I wished for my sharp little penknife, but that was yet another thing we’d lost with Felix the palfrey.
    My head felt naked afterward, but I felt free, freer than I had when I’d turned my back on Alder Brook. I hefted the braids in my hands with some amazement. They reached the ground. “No wonder my scalp aches sometimes.”
    Judith nodded, and we went into the town, which was a pretty jumble of newish wattle-and-daub houses dotted with older stone buildings.
    The town was almost entirely empty, which was to be expected with all the ripe vineyards around. We could see distant dots moving among the terraced vines. It seemed like everyone was recruited for the harvest. We couldn’t even find an alehouse that was open.
    We knocked at the kitchen doors of all the largest houses and eventually found someone who wanted to buy my braids. We took part of our payment in dark bread, sausages, cheese, apples, and small ale.
    The mistress of the house who bought our hair dispatched a maidservant to finish dealing with us. The maidservant said, “You’re awful young to be here in Upper Folkstown during the grape harvest.”
    â€œSeems like a very late harvest,” I said, not certain what she meant.
    â€œIt is,” the maidservant said with some pride. “But our valley is famous for our late harvest of grapes, which makes the most special, sweetest wine. Or—we were. Now get along. You’d best be to the next town before curfew.”
    â€œThanks, but