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Dear Diary, I decided that I had to do a little hiking in the hills. Though I have a confession to make. Of all the people in our group this last summer, I'm the only one who isn't an outdoors person. Ariel and Amber were part of the scouts and I've heard they camped a lot. Jean and Marie traveled with armies and then across Europe, camping the whole time. Ducks goes out into the wilderness all the time. Parakile is a dwarf -- he is as rugged as they come. Even that Norman Half-Elf, Robert-Etienne has spent a lot of his life on campaign or in the rough. I've lived a more sheltered life, in palaces and temples.

But camping looks like fun and these hills are wonderful. The mountains all rival Olympus. Not to mention, getting out in the wilderness area can let me let my red bull out to run and dance. He needs that, even if he waits patiently.

So I decided that if Ducks had to study and if I didn't have anything to do, I'd take a hike in the hills, play with the bull and maybe spend a night "camping" like everyone else. I even packed a backpack -- the same one my guardian took me out to get to carry books in if I needed it. I had a loaf of french bread and a wheel of cheese and a cupful of raisins from the grocery store next to the dorm, a blanket, a map and a ticket to take the shuttle out to the state park. I had found it before I knew what kind of breakfasts they served at the school cafeteria.

I'll tell you, those breakfasts are as wonderful as the many meals with meat. No day-old bread, broken to crumbs and served in leftover watered wine for their breakfasts. Sumptuous feasts, eggs and fruit and something called cereal, but not just raw grain for us to cook or parch at our pleasure. And the new wine of orange and apple (juice -- what we called new wine before it fermented, but so sweet and smooth). If I don't wake and find that I've really gone to the Fields of Heaven, I'm going to eat so much I'll be fat enough to roll there. Anyway, the store was still there even after I decided I'd never need it. So I bought some food, and wrapped it in a towel, along with a skin of water in my pack, and got onboard the early morning weekend shuttle to the mountains.

Once I got to the park, I started hiking until I was out of sight of the others. I was wearing my belt and had used my ear clip to create clothes, but I did not wear anything that I would hesitate to have rent or ruined in the dance. As soon as I was out of sight I called the bull. The red bull is my familiar. He is an old magic creature, fun to ride and patient when I don't have time. He barely has physical form and doesn't fight like many familiars do. Instead, he appears to do damage like a minotaur, but when his enemies would be dead if he were doing real damage, instead they are overcome by terror and they flee. The terror of his enemies heals any wounds he takes from them. But he really doesn't cause them much harm and if they learn not to fear him, he isn't very dangerous -- by himself. Of course he makes me much more effective and he is good, quiet company.

To look at him it is like seeing a great bull, larger than the master bull at Knosska in Crete. Strongly muscled, red like contained fire, his horns long and broad and sharp, his hooves flashing lightning and fire.  Capturing him was my rite of passage task and earned me the title of master dancer.

When we had run a while I dismounted and we walked together and ran together until we were high in the upper valleys. There we ran and I practiced my leaps and bull dancing. It was great, though I noticed suddenly that it was growing dark, which meant I needed to find a place to rest.

I looked up and realized that I had an audience, a trio of elves had been watching the bull dance of Ceres. They smiled at me and I smiled back, elves are usually harmless and I had my chain.

"Well, that is quite the costume you have" the one said. I was puzzled, I had on my great belt, but I was dressed like any dancer. Then I remembered my ear clip. "It is a pity it is all an illusion and we have the truesight" another said with a smirk, even though what he said didn't make sense. Elves are usually harmless, but they get pretty snotty and pretty snide and can be so smarmy it puts your teeth on edge.

"So?" I said. "I'm dressed like a dancer." Surely at least these elves would remember Ceres and her rites, unlike the people I lived among now, so far from home.

"Of course, a dancer, then why don't you just take off that belt and make it a real show ... I've seen many better dancers in the human town ..."

That was it, a death insult. I could tell. Green fire flared around me, Kore dropped into my hand and I looked hard into the secret weaknesses of the speaker. I'm no henthanite, to bare my belly or take off my belt for man or elf. The wrath of Ceres radiated out from me towards the elf.

He blanched. Which is not what I expected. I just thought they were feckless outcasts, thieves and robbers, scofflaws, nerving themselves up to an attack with the vilest insults they could imagine. As my curses filled the air I was amazed to see them throw themselves prostrate in submission. To the sight, as I gave them the hard look of inner vision, they were merely normal elves, armed well enough to protect themselves from a chance encounter, but dressed for peace, just as I was fully dressed for war.

They had the house sign of the Joyous King, feckless maybe, but no scoffing outlaws. They were scared and at a loss for words. One pass and I would have slaughtered them and they knew it.

They weren't sure what they had said or done wrong, but they were begging for mercy, for forgiveness for a moment to pay a ransom or make an atonement, anything to put off the true death they saw in my hands. The rules and my guardian's stern warning rang in my head -- he'd used a little magic after all when he was stern with me about not killing people even when I thought I knew what I was doing. But I could tell they didn't realize the insult they had made. As if they could be that stupid, for surely they knew that no modest maiden would expose her belly or go beltless, that only the henthanites and worse dressed that way ... then I remembered the girls at school I had seem.

I thought they were so shameless, the way they exposed themselves, but then I saw one of them slap a boy just for whistling at her. I could feel my guardian's voice, almost like a taboo bond, and I held back from the slaughter. But I looked hard, and the Bitter King's glyph suddenly blazed as they called on him for mercy or help.

That blaze made their voices die in their throats, though it told me that they were entitled to succor and aid in my new god-father's name. Perhaps it was time to not just hold my hand but to stop.

"There has been a mistake, though you spoke a blood insult, I will let you pass unharmed, as if you were innocent." That was the best I could do. They fled and I decided to move up the mountain, hiding my path in case they returned with rancor. It was getting dark and it was time to eat some bread and cheese, have a few raisins and find a place to sleep. Even better, there was running water to cleanse myself so I washed off the sweat and bull's scent, laid down my blanket, wrapped myself in the red light of the bull at rest (when he is completely a spirit companion), set my ear clip to an illusion of leaves, and went to sleep with the bull to keep me warm, my magic to keep me safe, and the blanket (I hoped) to keep me comfortable. It was like sleeping on my blanket at my old home on the marble floors of the Temple, only better. I had not slept with so much peace for a long, long time. The bull guarded my dreams and even they were quiet and soft. My guardian had told me to wait until I had such a rest before I used some magic I still kept with me.

Until I woke to hear the roar of a manticore in the distance. I know, in the stories it is always the roar right next to the sleeper, magic having failed until the last minute, the jump to arms as the sun breaks over the horizon, the desperate battle as they gather their weapons, the ruin of the camp, the risk of companions and friends, the suddenness and terror. Not me. Nothing had gotten by the Dragon's Ear, and the roar was in the distance. Not that such a sound did not mean that there would be terror and surprise, but I expected it would come from me.

A manticore. That would make good hunting and worthwhile. I pulled on the spirit shirt I had packed, the indigo shirt was a gift from Tindalasse's father along with his glyph, the lycra/kevlar warmers I had bought on a shopping trip with my guardian's wife (I'd brought real clothes to go with the belt and clip -- I knew the rules my guardian had taught me about being dressed in public), pulled on my boots and finished a light breakfast on the leftover bread and cheese. I would save the last raisins for lunch. But a manticore, that would make a wonderful hunt and give me more to do today. I was about to have a bit of adventure that would make Ducks sorry he had spent the day studying instead of hiking with me.

As I dressed it hit me, suddenly, what everyone had been trying to tell me.  It was really clear. My whole life I've lived where clothing is pretty optional. But anyone with any virtue or modesty knows a woman wears a belt. That is modesty. To suggest that a girl take off her belt is like suggesting she is one of the hentai slime prostitutes of the Basilisk King. Everyone knows that such a statement is a blood insult and a statement of the intent to violate the person being spoken to. A blood insult, spoken only when death is in the air and no other choices are available. Well, it was more than three thousand years ago when it had that meaning, but everyone knew it.

As I thought about it, here everyone wore clothes, all the time, and belts weren't important. Not at all. Useful magic items, yes, but not the belt as "the belt." I must seem stupid, but it finally dawned on me that here, in this time and place, wearing clothes, like a shirt, was like wearing a belt. I know I didn't have it right on the nose, but the reality suddenly dawned on me.

So, I had the indigo spirit shirt. Think of it as an extra-large man's dress shirt, open to the second button, no pockets, and but this one had buttons (the general shape and cut are the same -- most of these shirts do not have buttons). Most have embroidery and this one was no exception, with the embroidery in blue, azure blue, navy blue and violet. I wore it like a shirt dress, with my belt holding it in at the waist. The kevlar-lycra leg warmers provided me protection against thorns and they covered all of my legs that would show outside of the shirt. I had socks and my dragonskin boots (made from the hidden inner-ear skin of a young dragon, they were lightweight and comfortable, almost like high lace-up moccasins -- and very quiet, very quick), and a unitard under everything. I was as dressed as I had ever been (heck, I was even wearing all the clothes I had brought with me) and determined to not forget what I had just realized. It was like the veils of the desert people that we had worn on a visit with them. I had gotten that on the first explanation. I'd figure this out too, regardless of all the strange rules and exceptions (swimming suits? athletic wear? TV? -- lots to figure out).

Now I was ready to hunt that manticore. All I had to do was invest the crimson blood ruby that my guardian had blessed and returned and I was ready. I'd spent the night meditating in the aura, just as I had been told to do, and this chance encounter reminded me that fully prepared was best prepared, so I released the magic and let the gem flow into me.

Deep red heat ran through me and the magic took effect. I'd heard of blood gems before, but I hadn't realized that crimson ones were this powerful. All I'd heard was that they were valuable, used to ransom kings or emperors, and my guardian told me to expect a pleasant surprise, but this was wonderful. Of course I'd need to cut my hair when I got back, but a quick french braid would take care of it for now. I'd thought of a french braid before I got the pixie cut, so I knew how to do it, and braiding my hair up made me think of Robert-Etienne who was almost french.

 See also Roof of the World and The Great Conflict.