that a certain
that a certain familial resemblance could be seen.
The man who had lassoed the girl was now on the ground. He was making his way along the rope to the captured girl, expertly maintaining the tension. I recognized the skill, of course. I was a maestro in the use of a whip (if I say so myself—more to the point, my uncle Larue says so). And while a whip and a lasso are not the same, the two devices are similar enough that my uncle Larue had spent some time acquainting me with the art of lassoing. In which art, of course, he was superb—as he was with the use of a bola, or, indeed, any weapon involving the same general principles.
As the man drew near the captured girl, her companion began cursing bitterly. Given the surroundings, I was not surprised to hear such brilliant invective and profanity issuing from the lips of a fifteen-year-old girl.
Eventually, the profanity ceased and the girl lapsed into standard language. “T’ain’t right!” she shrilled. “It’s not my birthday—Lana’s neither! And it’s not a saints’ day!”
The other two horsemen had reached the scene, and were dismounting. One of them, hearing the girl’s protest, laughed harshly. “The Baron decides what’s ‘right,’ girl. Advised by his soothsayer, o’ course.” He pointed to the new moon, whose dim silhouette could be seen above the horizon. The sun had set, by now, but the area was still half-illuminated by its dying glow. “Th’ Baron says ’tis only right that droit d’seigneur applies at new moon too, seein’ as how the whole business is tied to the lunar cycle and sech.”
“T’aint’ fair!” shrilled the girl. “T’aint’t!” echoed her younger sister.
The man who had spoken advanced and took the older one by the scruff of her tunic. Then, shrugged. “Wha’s ‘fair’ got to do with anytin’? Th’ Baron decides what’s fair, not you. And he’s horny.”
“So ’re we,” chortled the man who had lassoed the younger. He ruffled her hair. “Won’t be but a couple o’ days, lass. An’ y’may as well get used to it anyhow.”
Within seconds, the two girls were bundled across two of the saddles and the little party—now remounted—was moseying its way toward a distant hill. Atop the hill, as on
The man who had lassoed the girl was now on the ground. He was making his way along the rope to the captured girl, expertly maintaining the tension. I recognized the skill, of course. I was a maestro in the use of a whip (if I say so myself—more to the point, my uncle Larue says so). And while a whip and a lasso are not the same, the two devices are similar enough that my uncle Larue had spent some time acquainting me with the art of lassoing. In which art, of course, he was superb—as he was with the use of a bola, or, indeed, any weapon involving the same general principles.
As the man drew near the captured girl, her companion began cursing bitterly. Given the surroundings, I was not surprised to hear such brilliant invective and profanity issuing from the lips of a fifteen-year-old girl.
Eventually, the profanity ceased and the girl lapsed into standard language. “T’ain’t right!” she shrilled. “It’s not my birthday—Lana’s neither! And it’s not a saints’ day!”
The other two horsemen had reached the scene, and were dismounting. One of them, hearing the girl’s protest, laughed harshly. “The Baron decides what’s ‘right,’ girl. Advised by his soothsayer, o’ course.” He pointed to the new moon, whose dim silhouette could be seen above the horizon. The sun had set, by now, but the area was still half-illuminated by its dying glow. “Th’ Baron says ’tis only right that droit d’seigneur applies at new moon too, seein’ as how the whole business is tied to the lunar cycle and sech.”
“T’aint’ fair!” shrilled the girl. “T’aint’t!” echoed her younger sister.
The man who had spoken advanced and took the older one by the scruff of her tunic. Then, shrugged. “Wha’s ‘fair’ got to do with anytin’? Th’ Baron decides what’s fair, not you. And he’s horny.”
“So ’re we,” chortled the man who had lassoed the younger. He ruffled her hair. “Won’t be but a couple o’ days, lass. An’ y’may as well get used to it anyhow.”
Within seconds, the two girls were bundled across two of the saddles and the little party—now remounted—was moseying its way toward a distant hill. Atop the hill, as on