“You look awful, kid. Haircut?”

  Jenk spat to the side, bringing out a stool for me to sit on.

  “I know I let it go a bit long,” I mumbled. He pulled my hood off and left to drag out a mirror from his shop.

  He set it in front of me and I flinched in surprise.

  Did I really look that bad?

  Last time I had looked in his mirror, I had looked hopeful. Left looking… dashing, if I said so myself.

  Now? My skin was sallow, the bags under my eyes doing wonders to take away from my eye color. My hair stood in every direction — thanks in no small part to Jenk deliberately pulling my cloak hood off to make it do so.

  “Been through a lot, ok?” I muttered defensively. Jenk snorted, setting to work on my hair.

  “I guess that makes it all right then. The new look suits you, since you’ve been through a lot. I bet you never take that hood off neither, what with how pale you are. That’s ok too, what with all you’ve been through.”

  He eyed me through the mirror, grabbing a tuft of hair and cutting most of it off.

  “I was wondering where you had gone. Looks like you were busy working on your new look!”

  Snip Snip.

  I grit my teeth.

  Then I sighed.

  What did he know, anyway.

  Snip Snip.

  We sat in silence for a while.

  “It’s a bit late, but still some time for sword practice after,” he spoke up, a bit more kindly this time.

  I grunted and pulled my cloak aside, showing my bum leg, before covering it again.

  “Well, you were already at a disadvantage, what with my 4 legs to your 2. One less leg won’t make that much of a difference,” he responded without missing a beat.

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  I snorted.

  Damnit, I snorted.

  “Really think I could still learn to sword fight?” I asked curiously.

  “Sure,” he nodded, brushing through my hair to remove the clippings before resuming his cadence. “I taught an armless warhorse to fight once. We ended up strapping spiked plates to his chest and legs. Boy was built like a Clydesdale. Damn was he terrifying,” he finished with a chuckle.

  “Point is, you won’t be Mr. Fancy Hooves.” He shrugged again. “But there’s more than one way to fight,” he nodded. “Maybe next time you can give as good as you got.”

  I chuckled sourly. “Not likely.”

  “Ah, an unfair fight then?” he nodded sagely. “Seen my fair share of those.”

  I had to remember he wasn’t just Old Man Jenk. He was also Warhorse Jenk.

  A General.

  “Secret no one tells ya,” he said thoughtfully, smacking my head as he was won’t to do, “Every fight is unfair, for one side or the other. Trick is making sure you are on the right side.”

  I nodded, an image of Stupid with a spiked shield strapped to her chest floating through my head. The devastation she could cause if she sneezed too hard…

  I shuddered, rubbing my leg where it ached, just above the knee.

  “What if I don’t want to fight?” I said.

  As I thought of Stup— Elara, I realized something.

  “What if I’m happy with the small things?”

  Jenk raised an eyebrow through the mirror; a sign for me to continue.

  There, in the barber chair of a battle-worn centaur, I learned.

  I dreamed of big things.

  Of changing things.

  Of being the one who made things happen, rather than watching as they happened to me.

  But why?

  I stared as Jenk resumed clipping my hair.

  I loved the small things.

  I loved Stupid, not her magic.

  I loved the store, not its antics.

  I loved where I worked because I belonged, not because of what I hoped to gain from it.

  “What if I just want to be Beeg?” I whispered.

  Jenk pawed a hoof thoughtfully.

  “You saying that because you’d be happy, or because you’re giving up?”

  The sun set before us, burning the sky with hues of orange and red.

  Snip Snip.

  “I think I’m saying it because I’m not afraid anymore,” I realized.

  The only reason I didn’t ask Vaarg about magic wasn’t because I thought he wouldn’t answer.

  It was because I was afraid.

  The same went for the book. It still sat in a corner in my room.

  I hadn’t opened it again because… what if it wasn’t what I wanted?

  But what did I want?

  “You know Jenk, I think I just want to be the best I can be.”

  He smiled, setting his scissors down and dusting the hair off my shoulders. When he stood me in front of the mirror again, I didn’t see Beeg.

  I saw me.

  “I do want to learn sword fighting from you. Maybe strap a spike to my leg.”

  He snorted in amusement. “But… I have some other things I need to do first.”

  He nodded and lifted the mirror with a grunt, carting it back inside.

  “Take care of what you need to, this old Warhorse will be here when you get back.”

  I handed him his fee for the cut.

  ”Thanks,” I said.

  I truly meant it.

  I turned to head home, this time leaving my hood down.

  The air was cold, yet refreshing.

  I didn’t head toward the store, nor the tavern.

  I turned to make my way to a book that sat gathering dust, holding answers I hadn’t been ready for.

  I walked with a lighter step.