" When she was done, I said, “Thanks, Ria. That’s as good as an afternoon nap in the summer.”
“A shame you have to put it up again,” she said, smiling. “It’s so pretty--the color of autumn leaves. Promise you’ll never cut it.”
“I won’t. It’s the only thing I have left to share with my mother, the color of our hair. And she always wanted me to grow it out.” My fingers worked quickly from old habit as I braided it up again, wrapped it twice around my head, and tucked the end in. “But I can’t parade around in long hair during a war. Or, I suppose I could, except then I’d end up carrying half the mountain in it.”
“You can wear it down after we win, then, and start a new fashion.”
“You’ll be the one starting the fashions,” I said, laughing up at her.
“Duchess Oria,” she said, swishing around my tiny tent. “New silk shoes every day--twice a day! I can hardly wait.”
“That’ll do,” Julen said to Oria. She was vigorously brushing mud off my alternate pair of woolen trousers. “You stop your nonsense and go and get your rest. We’ll have to make a supply run again tomorrow.” Oria stuck her tongue out at her mother, grinned at me, and ran out. Julen laid my other tunic down. “This is the best I can make of these trousers; the mud will not come out. Your brother’s old tunic looks even worse,” she said, frowning heavily. “I wish I could wash these properly! Even so, they wouldn’t look much better. ’Tis shameful, you not dressing to befit your station. Especially on this day.”
I dropped onto my bedroll, grinning. “For whom?” I asked. “Everyone has seen me like this since I was small. And truth to tell, Oria would look a lot prettier in fancy clothes than I would.”
Julen’s square, worn face looked formidable as she considered this. She said slowly, “’Tisn’t proper. When I grew up, we dressed to fit our places in life. Then you know who was what at a glance--and how to deal with ‘em.”
“But that means an orderly life, and when has Tlanth been orderly?” I asked, sobering. “Not in my memory.”
Julen gave a short nod. “It’s just not right, your runnin’ barefoot and ignorant with the village brats. I count my two among ‘em,” she added with a wry smile.
“But they’re my friends,” I said, leaning on one elbow. “We know each other. We’ll defend each other to the death. You think Faeruk and the rest would have left their patches of farm or their work to follow us if I’d stayed in the castle, spending tax money on gowns and putting on airs?”
Julen pursed her lips. “Friends in war--and I hope you’ll remember us when things are put right. But you know we all will eventually have to take up our work again, and you won’t be knowing how to have friends among your own kind.”
“I don’t miss what I never had.”
“I’ve said my piece. Except,” Julen added strongly, “I’ll continue to curse the day Galdran Merindar’s mother didn’t strangle him at birth.”
“Now, that,” I said with a laugh, “is a fine idea, and one I’ll join with enthusiasm! "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)