“No; but his old archer servant does.”
I felt properly crushed at being referred to in the same breath with the chipped, old, weathered block of wood that had helped me so doubtfully with my new gear. I shifted the ground of debate.
“And what have your eyes and ears told you that makes you think the doctor wouldn’t worry if the camels died?”
“That he thinks Ziné matters much more than camels.”
“And does Ziné think that he matters?”
“She may. But then Ziné often considers that men are worth thinking about, which is very stupid, as I am always telling her.”
“Then you don’t consider that they are worth worrying over?”
“Not in the least. They’re useful sometimes when you want things done for you—that’s all. But as for wasting time and energy worrying about them as Ziné does, Heavens, no!”
“Or tangling your thoughts over them?”
That shaft went home, I could see. I was sorry for Aryenis’s pony, for the Sakae snaffles are rather jagged, and their stirrups, which they use as spurs, over-sharp. The simultaneous application of both stirrup and bit must be uncomfortable to a spirited mount.