Copyright J.B. Norman
“Aw, strawberry preserves,” Egeria says, vainly fishing around the nearly-empty jar with her knife. “Why’d you go and do this to me? I thought we was friends.”
Amara watches her cousin from across the table, wincing at the cacophony of the knife scraping against the bottom of the jar and banging against the sides.
“Golly,” Egeria mutters to the preserves. “They make you outta strawberries or stubbornfish?”
“Powers, Egeria,” she says. “It is far too early for you to be making such a racket. Just use a spoon.”
“Cousin Amy,” Egeria counters, not looking from her delicate task and still fishing around the jar with her knife. “Now, what good’s a spoon gonna do me. Y’all can’t spread things with a spoon.”
Her eyes go wide as the realisation hits her.
“Oh. Y’all mean to scoop it out with a spoon, and then spread it on the toast.”
Amara sighs heavily.
“Honestly, Egeria. Sometimes I wonder how something with a brain the size of a continent can be like, well…” Her voice trails off as she feels her statement is utterly self-evident.
“Like what, Cousin Amy?” Egeria asks innocently, taking a bite of her toast.
“Never you mind,” Amara mutters.
“Hey, Cousin Amy?” Egeria asks, breaking the silence that has fallen over the breakfast table.
“Yes, Egeria?” Amara responds.
“Y’all ever wonder why they’re called bullfrogs?”
“Has anyone? Anywhere? Ever?”
Egeria shrugs. “Well, it’s just that they don’t even got horns, is all.”
“I suppose they don’t,” Amara admits.
“Now,” Egeria continues, increasingly impassioned by the issue of bullfrogs. “Now, it seems to me somebody oughta follow in the footsteps o’ the great Sibylla o’ Isidorus an’ conduct a thorough inquiry into any an’ all subjects of knowledge — names and etymologies especially.”
Amara blinks mutely at her cousin.
“Whatever are you talking about, Egeria?”
“Well, they’s called bullfrogs, but they ain’t got no horns. So, that means somebody somewhere at some point musta oughta decide that bull-frogs was still a fittin’ name for ’em,” Egeria muses.
Amara blinks mutely at her cousin.
“But I don’t know why. An’ you don’t know why. But here are we: we got bull-frogs even though they ain’t very much like frogs at all. So, what I’m proposin’, I suppose, is to conduct an inquiry all across Realmgard so as to determine why things is named the way they is an’ what higher truth them names is meant to convey.”
She shrugs.
“An’ well, we ain’t had a Sibylla o’ Isidorus for near a thousand years, so there’s a whole lotta catch-up work to do since then, ain’t there? Golly, how many much things must there be nowadays then back then?”
“Are you feeling quite alright, Egeria?” Amara asks. “Did you get enough sleep last night.”
“Oh, I slept snugger than a bug in a whole stack o’ rugs,” Egeria answers happily.
“And you didn’t hit your head getting out bed?”
“Golly, Cousin Amy. I ain’t sure what you’re talkin’ about. Are you feelin’ alright?”
“It is far too early for this, Egeria,” Amara declares.
She reaches for the coffeepot.
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