Exploring Idioms...and Mountains

“They say third time’s a charm.”

“Yeah?” She grunted, readjusting her grip. “What do they know?”

The rocks were slick with the drizzling rain that had begun at dawn and was misting the forested mountain with a cold she would rather not endure; she had nearly fallen twice now.

Scaling a sheet of rock was comparable to embroidering a tapestry with leather instead of thread, and doing it in the rain was like the same but without a needle. Absurd. And although it wasn’t the first time the king had commissioned exploration of the mountain in hopes of forging a new trade route, it was the last time Timber would let the king’s venturesome son talk her into doing it with him, best friend or no.

“Well, they say a lot of things: sneezes come in threes, a copper saved is a copper earned, when the cat’s away the mice will play. You can’t expect them to be right about everything.”

She would have rolled her eyes if she wasn’t concentrating so hard.

This is what they did. The son of the king and his childhood best friend, a tomboy of middle-lower nobility, would banter back and forth with all the respectability of ten-year-olds. They were often to be found off on some excursion or another, reveling in the freedom they had before the prince turned twenty-one next month and life demanded they bow to the expectations placed on them. Hence, the late afternoon climb in the rain to avoid an especially dense section of verdure.

“They also say, ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all,’ right?”

“Precisely.”

“Who’s ‘they’ anyway?”

“Probably…my—oof—grandmother. Hang on for a minute; I think I see an outcropping to the left. I’m pretty sure she would credit herself with the entire English language. Not that I listen to a word she says.”

“Nathaniel!”

The ground was about forty feet below them, and Timber hoped Nathaniel was right about the outcropping; her arms were starting to hurt. They hadn’t realized how much more strength was needed when things were slippery before starting the climb, and now they had little choice but to continue up seeing as descending was even more hazardous than ascending.

“Come off it, Timber. You know you hate her pomposity as much as I do.”

“She certainly does enjoy telling everyone what’s what.”

He contorted his face the way that said he was about to mimic the elderly royal pain in the…well, she had better not think that word, lest it make its way out of her mouth. Nathaniel started to speak, but she beat him to it.

“No, stop it. I swear to you if you make me laugh I will confess to pinning your grandmother’s broach to her wig that one time while she was napping, and you will lose your partner in crime. We are too high up to risk falling for such a stupid reason as laughing.”

“You are no fun,” he declared in a matter-of-fact tone, but he tilted his head in a capitulatory motion and pushed up on his leg, climbing higher. “Go slowly, some of these edges are deceivingly sharp. Do you realize we are literally stuck between a rock and a hard place?”

“That’s from a Greek myth, right? Ouch!”

“Timber, Timber, you really should listen to me from time to time. Yes, it’s in the classic Odyssey my tutor brought back from Greece last year.”

She could practically see him shaking his head at her, but her palm was stinging, she was wet and cold, and why did she agree to this journey again?

“I’m going off to Greece if we don’t get to solid ground within the next five minutes.”

They did indeed reach the ledge Nathaniel had mentioned, and they were at the top of the wall and on relatively level earth again by sundown. Camp was made, and they fell asleep without further incident.

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The next morning brought sunshine and a delightfully warm breeze that reminded Timber of the summer day she and Nathaniel had spent hiding from the prince’s hapless tutor sprawled against piles of straw in the royal stables.

As she covered the dying embers of the fire and rolled up her pack, she felt another wave of gratefulness for Nathaniel’s friendship. He was the prince, and yet there was no pretense in their interactions. There never had been. And one day, when he was crowned and married with the weight of the kingdom resting on his shoulders, things would be different. But for right now things were casual and comfortable—long hike around the mountain with a canteen of water that refused to stop digging bruises into her hip notwithstanding.

“‘Birds of a feather flock together’ ends with ‘until the cat comes.’”

Nathaniel’s voice greeted her as he came into the clearing after relieving himself.

“It’s a warning about having fair-weathered friends.”

Timber knew him to be a jokester, but sometimes she did not know where he came up with the things that came out of his mouth.

It must be the mountain air.

“That’s rubbish.”

“No, it’s true. By the way, the rainwater seems to be evaporating rapidly; if the ground doesn’t stay muddy for long periods, there might be hope for a pass to be made yet.”

“I can’t count how many times your father has tried to make this mountain crossable. How much money do you think he has invested in the endeavor? Going back to what we mentioned yesterday, you know what they say; ‘curiosity killed the cat.’”

“But that one also continues, and it says, ‘but satisfaction brought it back.’”

Shaking her head, Timber took out her little, leather-bound notebook and the tiny quill she had for traveling, noted the new information of the geographal integrity of the mountain, and the two were on their way.

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Of course, traveling on foot does have its downsides—at least in a carriage, the road noise had the potential to drown out the nonsensical conversation of one’s traveling companion. It was a luxury Timber was wishing for at this moment. The sun was past its height. As was Nathaniel’s “captivating discourse.”

“Jack of all trades, master of none, but better than master of one.”

“Everyone knows that one, Nathaniel. You’re not impressing anyone.”

He grinned at her, and she bit back her own smile, mildly irritated that he saw straight through her faux annoyance.

“And ‘the early bird gets the worm’ ends with ‘but the second mouse gets the cheese,’ and is not, in fact, an encouragement to wake up with the sun but rather advice to work smarter, not harder.”

She gave him a sideways glance.

“Sometimes I really hate you.”

“Hate me? I’m expanding your knowledge of the world.”

“Oh, you’re turning it upside-down.”

He grinned so widely at her dry sarcasm dimples appeared, and something within her softened. He hadn’t looked so happily carefree since before the war had started…since his mother had died.

“Before I try to level my head, is there anything else you want to add?”

At that moment a cracking noise sounded above their heads, and before they could move, a dead tree branch hurled to the ground mere feet from where they stood.

Nathaniel was entirely unscathed, but one of the branching arms caught Timber, and she was left sitting on the ground in a sputtering mess covered in brown leaves that crunched with her every move.

Nathaniel’s laughter rang through the air even as he picked her up and helped fish the brittle foliage out of her hair.

“I don’t think you’d be able to bear it. To accept what I have to tell you would be more earth-shattering than near death-by-tree.”

Timber peered at the prince, lips tugging up in mirth.

She loved this part of him: his unerring kindness and determination to bring others happiness. He was playful and generous and a true friend. And that was exactly why she hated that he would one day be king. A king had to face the cruelties of life and bear the burdens of thousands; those qualities in him, that light of playful companionship, would evanesce with time.

And a king had no time to go romping through forests and mountains with childhood friends, telling them all manner of “new” information.

“Well,” she began solemnly as they continued on their way, “I think you had better get it out now while I’m still in shock. We both know once you start on something, you can’t focus on anything else until you finish it.”

The sun was setting now, orange laying in stripes across the forest floor. The sound of the fluttering wings of birds as they flew from tree to tree and the chirping of early crickets created a soft din that settled over Timber like a gentle kiss.

Falling tree branch aside, this day was one of the most peaceful she had ever lived, and she was beginning to see the appeal in the nomadic way of life.

Until she remembered the cold and rain from yesterday.

“Alright,” Nathaniel huffed, catching himself as he nearly tripped over an emerged root. “Prepare yourself.”

She chuckled.

“Percentages are reversible.”

“What?”

“Percentages as in mathematics; they’re reversible.”

Timber frowned, leaning forward to balance her center of weight as the terrain got steeper.

“I’m going to need a bit more of an explana—”

“Twelve percent of twenty-five is the same as twenty-five percent of twelve, and one of them is much easier to do in your head.”

“Twelve percent of…” She trailed off, doing the math in her head. “So twenty-five percent of twelve is three, and you’re saying that three is then also twelve percent of twenty-five?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t know. You know I hate math. I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“So you know this obscure rule and don’t even use it?”

“Oh, I use it,” he defended, boyish confidence in his eyes, “to impress people who can actually verify its truth. Like you who said I wasn’t impressing anyone.”

She laughed, and he laughed. And she couldn’t fault him there; she was impressed, however irrelevant the information may be to her.

They traveled on for several more minutes in an easy quiet, lulled by the rhythm of their footsteps and the knowledge that they would reach the edge of the cliffside soon.

With a few final steps forward, they emerged from the treeline and were met with the grandeur of the sprawling kingdom beneath them.

“Woah.”

Rolling hills made a patchwork quilt of greens ranging from whispering pastels to striking emeralds. Thatch roofs huddled close together here and there in groups like litters of napping kittens. Streams and roads cut through the landscape like ribbons of blue and brown, and the East Lake sparkled like the indigo dress Timber’s father had given her for her first ball.

Off in the distance, the castle twinkled, and for a moment, it was as if they were in the gallery appreciating a painting. But a portrait had never managed to capture the majesty of what lay before them.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. No wonder artists are never satisfied with their work.”

Nathaniel stood blinking at the view. Timber stood staring at him.

“It helps to have someone to share it,” he added, turning to her. “Thank you for coming with me, Timber.”

“There’s another well-known saying that’s often misused, one of which I don’t think you know the real meaning. I’d like you to know what I mean when I say it.”

She slipped her hand in his where it hung at his side, and his eyes sharpened on her face as he gave her his full attention.

“‘Blood is thicker than water’ is an abbreviation for ‘the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.’ It means relationships formed and fought for and maintained by choice are stronger than those into which you are born.” She swallowed thickly. “I want you to know how important you are to me. Someday you’ll be king and things won’t be what they have been. Someday you’ll marry a wonderful woman, and it will be neither appropriate nor healthy for us to spend as much time together as we do now.”

“Timber—”

She turned away to fix her eyes on the landscape in front of her, willing her eyes to stay dry.

“I’m just saying that you have been more to me than any of my legal relations, and I am so thankful.”

They stood in silence for moments unheeded by time, grappling with the weight that comes with the unexpected presence of raw and profound emotion. Eventually, Nathaniel squeezed her hand in his and shifted to face the glorious spectacle of the kingdom with her.

“Blood is thicker than water. Common knowledge.”