Tyr repeated once more: "She's eighteen."
Hale nodded. "Yes, eighteen is legally adult, but Easterners are petite to begin with. At eighteen she's still as tender as a flower bud—you can't pick that yet."
Tyr's gaze went cold. "What if I insist on picking it?"
Hale stood up, paced around the room, gesturing with both hands. "Look, this big a plug, this small a socket—the specs don't match. Can it conduct electricity? If you force it, either the plug snaps or the socket tears. Master, think it through. If the current won't go through, how are you supposed to use it?"
Tyr's brow furrowed tightly. Would it break?
It did seem… a bit small.
But if he didn't let her have a child soon, his… heart…
Tyr asked, "How long do I have to 'raise' her?"
Hale thought for a moment. "This… at least two years, I'd say. In her country, the legal marriage age for women is twenty-two. Mainly it's just that the girl at your place… she's too tender. Way too tender."
