Work Text:
“And these are…”
“Cavalry. Horse riders.”
There was a pause. Chip squinted at the page and decided ‘commenoed’ was probably a typo.
“I have found a definition of ‘horse.’ Please define ‘large’ in the context of one. I do not think these models are accurately scaled.”
“Um.” Chip pushed his glasses up his nose. He was typing up a copy of the rules for 6th Edition Wargames: 3000 B.C. to 1485 A.D., because Prowl had been intrigued by the idea of human analog battle simulations and wanted to try them out but he couldn’t read the rulebook in its paper form. They had learned that it was best if Prowl went in with a full set of rules instead of Chip trying to explain things as they came up. In the meantime, he had laid out examples of all of the figures he had for Prowl to examine with a teeny camera that popped out of one of the robot’s fingers. “Like, how large is a typical horse?”
“Yes.”
Chip quickly rechecked the section of the rulebook listing troop definitions, just in case they had mentioned this and he had forgotten. They went into detail about the material and type of armor on the various kinds of cavalry. Not about the size of it. “Well. From my understanding, a horse is…” ‘large enough to ride’ was both obvious from context and described everything from Prowl himself to Chip’s own wheelchair. “...about as large as—no, a motorcycle is smaller, um—they’re measured in hands?” He had read ‘Black Beauty’ once. That was apparently the only fact that had stuck.
“Hands,” Prowl said, sounding dubious. “Does this relate to humans measuring by handfuls?”
“Hands high,” Chip said, without much conviction.
They looked at each other for a long moment.
“Tell you what,” Chip said, setting down the rulebook and pulling back from the computer. “Want to see if we can go find one?”
Rural southern Washington, outside of the Ark’s ash radius, was greener than the parts of rural California Chip was familiar with. Prowl had a terrain map that included marking which nearby areas were set aside for farmland, so all they had to do once they’d made it to the driveable sections of highway was drive around there until they spotted a farm.
“Or we could go to the University of Washington’s agricultural campus. They probably have one,” Chip had said, with the voice of experience.
“Where is it?” Prowl had asked.
Chip had hesitated for long enough that Prowl had said “I need to become familiar with the roads in proximity to the Ark, regardless. We can progress to the agricultural school if we fail to find a nearby farm.”
So now Prowl was driving and Chip was keeping a lookout, scanning the horizon for anything that looked like a promising field. A space opened up on the right of the road and Chip spotted a pair of brown backs in the middle of it.
“Horses!” Chip blurted, and had a horrible embarrassed moment of feeling like he was five years old pointing out the back of the car again. Prowl slowed as they approached, pulling into a turn so Chip, on his driver’s side, was directly facing the field. The window rolled down and let in a smell Chip had to assume was the smell of horses. Not a lot of cinders, thankfully, because the wind was low today.
“I see why you classify them as large,” Prowl said. “That creature outmasses you by a factor of roughly six point eight.”
“Wow,” Chip said, because that was more than he had expected. The horse had noticed them stopping and had raised its head, considering them from several yards away. Chip’s head would be just past its belly, if he was sitting next to it. Even when it had its head bent over, it was probably taller than Prowl’s alt mode. It started towards them and Chip suddenly understood the word ambling.
“It is coming towards us,” Prowl said.
“I see that,” Chip said. “I don’t think it can get past the fence?” They wouldn’t keep it in a fence if it could just hop over it, probably.
“It is brown,” Prowl said. “This seems to be a common color for Earth mammals.”
“I think most horses are brown,” Chip said. “Or white, or black. Or grey.” He thought for a moment. “Sometimes they’re tortoiseshell. Splotches of color, like cats.”
The horse stopped at the fence, watching them with its ears pricked forward for a moment before it lowered its head and went back to eating grass.
“And humans ride these into battle?”
“Oh, not for sixty years or so.” Chip crossed his arms on the window, watching the muscles move under the horse’s coat. “The last time cavalry really got used was in World War One. But before that, yeah. Cavalry was a big part of warfare. Horses are faster than humans and you can do a lot more damage with one.”
“I see. Why are they no longer used?”
“Jeeps and tanks were invented. They’re a lot easier to take care of than something alive.”
Prowl rumbled.
“No offense,” Chip added, hastily.
“I am not offended. I was surprised. Your world is so clearly made for vehicles that it is strange to recall they are new to you, as a species.”
“Yeah. It used to be horses were the only way you could get anywhere besides walking. You rode on them or you rode in something they pulled.”
The horse pulled its head up, looking at something to Chip’s left, and Prowl rumbled again. “I see. This is a knight.”
“It’s a horse.”
“The chess game you introduced me to. The piece called a knight. It is made to look like the head of a horse.”
“Knights ride horses,” Chip said, feeling suddenly very conscious of having failed to explain something he hadn’t even known needed explaining. “Rode horses, I mean. There aren’t knights around anymore.” He’d get into Renaissance fairs later, if necessary.
“Horse-riding knights,” Prowl said, sounding thoughtful.
“Knights on horseback,” Chip corrected. Distant memories were drifting up, of burying himself in Ivanhoe and tales of King Arthur during hospital visits or alone in his bedroom.
“There is a difference?”
“Knights on horseback is just what everyone always says,” Chip admitted. “But there isn’t really a difference. You can say whatever you want.”
They watched the horse turn around and trot away from them.
“I would like to speak correctly,” Prowl said, finally.
Chip...Chip could understand that. “It’s not more correct. It’s just more common.” But sometimes there wasn’t much of a difference, to a lot of people, and he had a feeling Prowl understood that in return.
When it was clear the horse wasn’t coming back, Prowl rolled up his window and reversed, returning to the correct side of the road. “I have four earth hours remaining in my leisure shift. Do you wish to return to the Ark and attempt your new game or go look for more horses?”
It was a nice day. The tabletop battlefield wouldn’t be going anywhere. “How about we go see if we can find more horses.”