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Seeds of Spring Labor and MischiefOn their morning ride through the valley, preceded and followed as ever by their protective contingent of guards and their court attendants, Aravis, Cor, and Ram passed many farmers laboring in their fields. Battling with stubborn teams of oxen to plow through the thick, brown loam of this fertile region’s soil, or sowing the seeds of what would become the autumn’s golden grain harvest in the freshly plowed land.Ram, a generous spirit who had inherited Cor’s common touch and wheat-blonde hair, often paused to distribute alms and gifts to these peasant farmers. Giving them flatbread from his saddlebags and coins from his purse. These favors drew forth cheers and applause as well as bows from their recipients and from the audience that witnessed such royal munificence, Aravis noted with approval as she watched the figure her seven-year-old son cut on horseback.That regal bearing and perfect posture on his mount spoke to her influence. The open heart and ready smile reflected Cor’s. Together they were shaping a good if spirited lad who would one day be a great king of Archenland. She was certain of that. Took a mother’s rightful pride in it.At noon, when the sun was at its radiant highest in the sky, they stopped for a picnic in a meadow dappled with dandelions, buttercups, and other spring wildflowers. A meadow at the foot of a mountain that climbed to a tall peak shrouded in mist and white snow that had yet to melt into the valley rivers. A mountain part of the jagged range that had divided Narnia and Archenland since Aslan sang the world into being on a day Aravis imagined was a spring one just like this. Filled with the potential and hope of new life.Their royal attendants spread out their blankets on the soft, green grass. Laid out platters of the flatbread Aravis ordered to always be in constant supply at Castle Anvard because it reminded her and Cor of Calormen, the country they had escaped from but that had also molded them. Placed bowls of spreads that Aravis had also been responsible for introducing to the Anvard kitchens and Archenland palate besides the flatbread.A spread made from chopped eggplant–roasted over an open flame for the imbued smoky flavor before peeling–mixed with olive oil, juice from lemons imported from Calormen, and tahini. A creamier one made from yogurt strained of its whey with olive oil and thyme added to create an herby taste. A third, Ram’s favorite and hers, made from spiced and mashed red bell peppers swirled with pomegranate molasses, walnuts, and breadcrumbs.“The goat and sheep herders must be in the process of transhumance now,” remarked Cor as he distributed the eggplant spread across a flatbread with a silver knife. Gazing up at the mountain slopes that were dotted with gray goats, white-fleeced sheep and lambs, and the specks that might be the sun-burned herders driving them up to more elevated pastures.“Trans-what?” Ram stared at Cor with bemused dark eyes. Eyes the color of cinnamon. Her eyes on her son’s face.Cor, never a stickler for etiquette or social divisions after his time being the boy with boxed ears in a short-tempered fisherman’s hut, had given their son perennial permission to ask about any vocabulary or concepts he did not understand.Ram had, however, spoken with his mouth full of half-eaten food. An uncouth habit Aravis felt as if she had been trying to rid their son of since he had learned to talk. Thus, she felt a mother’s need to reprove him. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. It will make others lose their appetites.”“My apologies, Mother.” Ram kissed her cheek with such sunflower tenderness that she found herself smiling and patting his though she knew he would forget the lesson in an hour.“Transhumance.” Cor answered their son’s question. “Moving livestock like sheep and goats from one grazing ground to another. Usually the valley lowlands in the winter, and the mountain highlands in the summer.”“That sounds a great labor, Father.” Ram frowned. Forehead furrowing like a newly plowed field.“It is.” Cor nodded. “But at the end of it, there will be some lamb chops and kebabs cooked over campfires for them.”Kebabs spiced with cardamom, cumin, and cayenne were yet another dish native to Calormen that Aravis had popularized in Archenland. If she had brought nothing else to Archenland, Aravis sometimes thought, at least she had brought spice and flavor to a cuisine that had sometimes lacked both.“Mmm.” Ram’s frown faded. “Kebabs are delicious.”He had finished his flatbread coated in red pepper sauce. A seed of mischief planted in his eyes. Grew as he surged across the blanket to snatch his father’s half-eaten flatbread. Added with the satisfaction of an unrepentant rascal who had successfully orchestrated a grand heist, “And so is flatbread.”He, of course, made this proclamation with his mouth full of pilfered flatbread.“You trickster!” Cor playfully tackled Ram into his arms. Tickled the sunset copper skin Ram had inherited from her. “I ought to have you clapped in irons and dragged to my dungeon in chains for your theft!”Ram gave an impish laugh and grabbed another flatbread from a plate. “No irons or chains anywhere in sight!"