“Mm phmm ffm mm?”
“What are you eating?”
The toad swallowed. “A very undernourished slug,” it said.
“I said they want to marry me!”
“And?”
“And? Well, just—just think!”
“Oh, right, yeah, the height thing,” said the toad. “It might not seem much now, but when you’re five feet seven he’ll still be six inches high—”
“Don’t laugh at me! I’m the kelda!”
“Well, of course, that’s the point, isn’t it,” said the toad. “As far as they’re concerned, there’s rules. The new kelda marries the warrior of her choice and settles down and has lots and lots of Feegles. It’d be a terrible insult to refuse—”
“I am not going to marry a Feegle! I can’t have hundreds of babies! Tell me what to do!”
“Me? Tell the kelda what to do? I wouldn’t dare,” said the toad. “And I don’t like being shouted at. Even toads have their pride, you know.” He crawled back into the leaves.
Tiffany took a deep breath, ready to shout, and then closed her mouth.
The old kelda must’ve known about this, she thought. So…she must have thought I’d be able to deal with it. It’s just the rules, and they didn’t know what to do about them. None of them wanted to marry a big girl like her, even if none of them would admit it. It was just the rules.
There must be a way round it. There had to be. But she had to accept a husband and she had to name the day. They’d told her that.
She stared at the thorn trees for a moment. Hmm, she thought.
She slid back down the hole.
The pictsies were waiting nervously, every scarred and bearded face watching hers.
“I accept you, Rob Anybody,” she said.
Rob Anybody’s face became a mask of terror. She heard him mutter, “Aw crivens!” in a tiny voice.
“But of course, it’s the bride who names the day, isn’t it?” said Tiffany cheerfully. “Everyone knows that.”
“Aye,” Rob Anybody quavered. “That’s the tradition, right enough.”
“Then I shall.” Tiffany took a deep breath. “At the end of the world is a great big mountain of granite rock a mile high,” she said. “And every year, a tiny bird flies all the way to the rock and wipes its beak on it. Well, when the little bird has worn the mountain down to the size of a grain of sand…that’s the day I’ll marry you, Rob Anybody Feegle!”
Rob Anybody’s terror turned to outright panic, but then he hesitated and, very slowly, started to grin.
“Aye, guid idea,” he said slowly. “It doesna do tae rush these things.”
“Absolutely,” said Tiffany.
“And that’d gi’ us time tae sort oout the guest list an a’ that,” the pictsie went on.
“That’s right.”
“Plus there’s a’ that business wi’ the wedding dress and buckets o’ flowers and a’ that kind of stuff,” said Rob Anybody, looking more cheerful by the second. “That sort thing can tak’ forever, ye ken.”
“Oh yes,” said Tiffany.
“But she’s really just said no!” Fion burst out. “It’d take millions of years for the bird to—”