Greylock had wanted to be there for his brother's ohrscherfung— he really had. When he walked into his Oma's living room on Viggo's sixteenth birthday, he had every intention to stay and watch. He stood beside his father near the door. Viggo sat in a chair in the centre of the room, looking around in nervous excitement. Their mother, Evelina, was at his side, giving him words of encouragement.

The small room was filled with the adults of the family; aunts and uncles and grandparents— Greylock, at 13, was the youngest in the room. Most were simply standing to the side, chatting amongst themselves. To one side, Greylock's Oma Erna and his Tanti Anna— his mother's mother and his mother's older sister— were each threading a length of thin black string through a needle.

"Viggo, are you still certain you want to go through with this?" Asked their mother.

"Yes, Mama," Viggo answered firmly. "I'm sure."

"I will not be disappointed if you choose not to. Not many young men do ohrscherfung anymore, after all…"

"I know, but I want to do it. I'm ready."

She smiled. "Mein tshats," she said affectionately. Evelina walked to the table at which the two older women were standing. There was a small basin of alcohol diluted with water on the table, and she dipped a cloth into the liquid. She wrung it out before taking it over to where Viggo sat. She began to wash his ears.

"Mama, I can do it myself," Viggo complained.

"I know, herts." She continued, unphased.

Once this was done, she returned to the table, and brought over two small blocks of ice, wrapped in wet cloths. She handed them to Viggo, who pressed them against his ears with a wince.

Greylock shuddered. This was the least painful part of the process.

Over at the table, his Oma and Tanti were heating their needles and knives over a candle.

"Vir verden zei bereit in ein parr minuten," Oma said.

Viggo nodded.

"You're still sure about this?" said their mother, touching Viggo's shoulder.

"Yes, Mama!"

"I'm just making sure."

A minute passed with excited tension, and Greylock alternated between watching his brother bouncing his leg in anticipation and watching his grandmother and aunt getting their tools ready.

Finally, Oma spoke again. "Es ist tseit," she said, and blew the candle out.

Their mother collected the ice from Viggo and returned it to the table. Once again at her eldest son's side, she touched the top of his ears. "Do you feel this?"

"No," Viggo said.

She nodded. "Byen." She knelt in front of him.

The two older women approached and gave their needles to Greylock's mother. Their aunt handed Viggo a rag.

"What's this for?" he asked.

"Something to bite down on," she answered shortly.

Viggo's eyes widened. "Oh." He balled up the rag in his hands.

Greylock felt the blood run from his face.

The two women began to fold Viggo's ears into the correct position. They checked to make sure both sides were symmetrical.

"Are you ready?" his aunt asked.

"Yes," Viggo answered firmly.

"Okay. Three—"

Viggo's whole body tensed.

"Two—"

He closed his eyes.

"One—"

He took a deep breath and held it.

The two women pushed their knives into Viggo's ears simultaneously, and the boy screamed in pain.

Greylock's stomach sank. He'd never heard his brother yell like that.

The adults in the room rose in cries of encouragement. There was so much blood— Viggo shoved the rag in his mouth and screamed again. He took his mother's hand and squeezed it until his knuckles turned white. Tears streamed down his face as the two women cut a small piece of both of his ears off. Greylock looked up at his father and saw the man's face was white as a sheet.

He couldn't stay. Greylock rushed out the door, hearing his brother scream in agony behind him.

Greylock kept running until he was outside. He was shocked and horrified, and sick to his stomach.

"Are you alright, Greylock?"

Greylock looked around in surprise. His eyes landed on his Opa Mads; he thought that he and Oma Agnes had left after the party with the rest of the family. "O-opa? You're still here?"

He nodded. "Yes. I wanted to offer Viggo some potions to help with the healing."

"But you didn't want to watch…?"

Mads shook his head. "No. I couldn't. When I was about your age, I saw my older cousin go through the same thing, and I… I couldn't take it."

"Me neither," Greylock admitted. "The way Viggo was screaming, I…" he shuddered.

"You understand now why I had no desire to do the same."

The boy nodded. "Or Papa, or Onkel Mads."

"I told them about the tradition, but neither were interested."

"Isn't there a spell that could make it not hurt?" Greylock asked.

"Yes, of course— There are spells that could give a man pointed ears, in fact. I have offered many a time to do either, but that goes against the tradition, you see. Viggo refused my help, too; he may even refuse these potions," Mads said, patting his pocket.

"Why is it so important to go through with a tradition that's so painful?"

Mads chuckled. "I'm sure you can guess why, Greylock. You're a smart boy."

Greylock nodded solemnly.

After a few minutes, someone else wandered outside. It was Greylock's father; still pale as a ghost, and a shell-shocked expression on his face.

"Is it done?" Mads asked.

Lars nodded. "Y-yes, it's done."

"I'm going to go inside," Mads said to his grandson. "You can stay out here with your father."

Greylock watched his Opa go back inside, and he turned to his father. The man sat on the step, cradling his head in his hands.

"Papa, is Viggo okay?"

"Yes, well… I think. Your grandmother and your aunt said he did admirably."

Greylock swallowed. "Did you… Did you want Viggo to do this?"

Lars sighed. "Honestly? No. No, I didn't want Viggo to do it, and I don't want you to do it, either. Especially hearing him scream like that, but... I know how important these things are to your mother, and to you and your siblings."

"I won't do it, when I'm sixteen," Greylock said. "I couldn't even watch it."

"It will be three years from now that you'll have to make that decision. You might feel differently, then."

The boy shook his head. "No. I'll never forget how bad it hurt Viggo. If I want to look like the men on Mama's side of the family, I'll use a spell to make my ears look pointy."

Lars smiled weakly. "That does sound a lot less painful, Grey."

As if on cue, Mads emerged again with a sigh. "He refused the potions, too," he muttered. "What a stalwart young boy."

"Viggo doesn't like magic," Greylock mumbled.

"Yes, and he's loving being told how brave he is." The old man chuckled. "I can't imagine how much his ears hurt, but he's already smiling and laughing. He's back to his usual self, just like that."

"Really?" Greylock asked.

"Yes, go see for yourself," Mads said. "Besides, he wants to see you. He asked me where you went."

Greylock perked up. "Oh! Well, I'll go see him, then. Bye, Opa!"

"Goodbye, Greylock."

The boy rushed back inside, following the sounds of conversation. The family had moved to the living room. Viggo was the centre of attention, of course, and he was seated in front of a grand array of deserts, sampling each with delight. He was smiling and laughing with tear-stained cheeks, and his newly cropped ears were bandaged carefully. He saw Greylock and waved him over. Greylock approached hesitantly.

"Grey!" Viggo called. "Where did you go?"

"I went outside," Greylock answered. "I couldn't… I couldn't watch."

"Ha, wimp!" Viggo said playfully.

"Are you okay?" Greylock asked, concerned.

"Okay?! I've never been better!" Viggo announced. "I'm a man, now— I've got the ears to prove it— and I'm eating like a king!"

"But… Doesn't it hurt?"

"Like hell!" Viggo said emphatically. "But I don't care!"

Greylock wasn't sure he understood, but he was happy for his brother.

The next morning, Agnes returned from a sleepover with their cousins. The family hadn't wanted eleven-year-old Agnes to be present while her brother had his ohrscherfung, so she had been sent away for the night. However, when she returned, she wanted to know all the grizzly details.

She asked how much it hurt, how much blood there was, and how loudly Viggo screamed. Viggo happily filled her in, not leaving out the fact that Greylock had been too much of a wimp to stay and watch.

After breakfast, their mother carefully removed the large bandage from Viggo's head and the smaller bandages from his ears to change them. There was lots of blood, but it was all dry and old. Last of all, She removed the wadded-up bandaged between the folded shells of Viggo's ears, and he winced at this.

"They're looking really good, tshats," she said in her accented English. "I will wash them before I put new bandages on."

"I can do that myself, Mama!" Viggo complained.

"I know, but I can do it better," she said with a smile.

"They look so cool!" Agnes said. "When do you take the threads out?"

"A few weeks," their mother answered, pouring alcohol into a bowl. "They have to heal all the way first, or the wound will rip back open when we take the thread away."

Greylock shuddered. That certainly sounded unpleasant.

When Greylock and Agnes returned from Hexley Hall that evening, Viggo was in an extraordinary mood. He was talking animatedly with their mother as she prepared dinner.

"—And of course, I'm one of the only boys in school to have shpitzohren, so it was an even bigger deal! Everyone kept asking me questions about them and wanting to see them."

"But you didn't let them look, right?"

"Of course not, Mama! I know I have to keep the bandages on unless they're being changed."

"Byen!"

Greylock climbed the stairs to go to his room. Viggo seemed to have already forgotten the anguish of having his ears literally cut up and sewn together— how was that possible? Greylock still heard his screams echoing in his mind.

Their father was worried, too. He asked his wife and Viggo himself several times about how the healing was going, and if Viggo was alright. Both of them assured him that he was doing well and it would be fine in a couple weeks. Lars still didn't seem convinced. Viggo would exclaim in pain if anything touched the side of his head even slightly, and he had to be extremely careful in his daily life to not bump his ears in any way. He even had to sit out from sports at school.

But Viggo was proud of himself, proud to be taking part in his culture. He was proud to look like the men in his mother's family; his uncles Carl and Niklas, his grandfather Viggo after whom he was named, some of his older cousins and the men who had married into his family, and the countless Rudistani men who came before him who had almost all had this same thing done on their sixteenth birthday. It connected him to his heritage, to what came before King Magnus' line and the modernization of Rudistan, the attempts to end long-standing traditions in order to change the kingdom's image in the eyes of other nations. Ohrscherfung was considered barbaric, now, and fewer and fewer boys underwent it. It wasn't yet illegal, but no one would be surprised if King Karlsson decided one day to ban it formally. Viggo was proud to be a bastion of the culture that the ruling class was trying to quash.

Days passed in this manner, with Viggo and his ears being the centre of attention. Greylock couldn't deny that he was excited to see the results— not as excited as his siblings, but excited nonetheless. After a little under a week, Viggo no longer needed to wear bandages, only the ones wadded up inside to help his ears keep their shape. Another week, and these weren't needed, either. Finally, after a third week, Evelina said it was time to remove the stitches. She sat Viggo at the kitchen table, while Lars, Agnes, and Greylock stood aside to watch.

Their mother took scissors to the threads, painstakingly sipping and removing the stitches. Viggo grunted periodically in pain, wincing. Evelina muttered to him encouragingly in a mix of English and Old Rudistani as she focused on her task. Finally, after long minutes, she pulled out the last bit of thread.

"I'm done!" she announced at length, straightening with a grin. "Your ears look fantastic, liebling."

Viggo rushed to the window to look at his reflection in the glass. His eyes widened in happiness and touched his ears reverently.

"Wow…" he muttered. "They look even better than I thought they would!"

"They really do look awesome!" Agnes agreed, rushing to Viggo's side. "Can I touch them?"

Viggo squatted slightly so that she could reach. "Be gentle!"

Agnes ran her fingers along his ear. "Wow! They feel just like Opa Viggo's!"

"What do you think, Grey?" Viggo asked. "Pretty amazing, aren't they?"

Greylock couldn't help but agree. "Yeah, they really are. Was it… Was it worth all the pain?"

Viggo scoffed. "Are you kidding?! Of course it was worth it! And withstanding the pain is half of what makes ohrscherfung so important, anyway. I proved myself and I got awesome-looking ears as a reward."

Greylock still heard Viggo's screams of agony echoing in his mind, though it seemed Viggo himself had forgotten.

Lars, for his part, was happy that his son's ears had healed with no issues along the way, and was happy to see Viggo so full of pride. Greylock could not forget the look on his face that night, either.

It was three months, give or take, until Greylock's sixteenth birthday. He had given ohrscherfung very little thought in that time, and somehow it had not quite sunk in for him that he would soon have to make a very important decision.

It didn't sink in for him until his mother knocked on his door one night, as he lay in bed reading.

"Yes?"

"May I talk to you?"

The teen went pale, thinking of all the things that he may have done wrong that could warrant a talking-to. His mind immediately went to Cedric— had she somehow found out about his crush? Had Agnes broken her promise and told their mother?

"It's nothing bad," Evelina said, likely noticing the look on her son's face.

Greylock was relieved. "Oh. What is it, then?"

The woman entered his bedroom, closing the door behind her. She walked inside and sat on the edge of Greylock's bed. "Your sixteenth birthday is coming up," she started.

"Yes, it is…" The boy didn't understand where the conversation was headed just yet.

"I was wondering if you had thought about ohrscherfung at all."

Greylock went pale, his eyes widening. "I…"

Evelina touched Greylock's knee through the blankets, smiling comfortingly. "It's alright, Greylock. You do not have to have it done if you do not want to. I know how much it distrubed you to see your brother's ohrscherfung."

Greylock looked away. Something about his mother using the Old Rudistani pronunciation of his name in this context made him uncomfortable. "But… You want me to have it done, don't you?"

"It's your choice completely, tshats."

"But you would be happier if I did it."

"No, that is not true."

"But you were so happy when Viggo went through with it. You were so proud of him."

"Yes, that is true. But it does not mean I would be disappointed if you chose not to have shpitzohren. I would not think you are less brave, or less of a man than your brother. And Viggo is old enough that he wouldn't think so, either."

Greylock chewed on his lip. "I do want to have it done, though. Ever since I was young, I have wanted ears like Opa Viggo's, and like your brothers'. Especially once I understood the cultural significance of it. It's not just proof of bravery anymore; it's proof of devotion to being Rudistani. It's showing the royals that they can't destroy our culture. I want that so badly."

Evelina was smiling slightly as he talked, but she said nothing. She knew there was more.

The teen sighed. "But… I'm scared. I'm scared of how much it will hurt. I… haven't forgotten how bad it was for Viggo. And I'm scared that people at school won't understand— I'm the only Rudistani boy at Hexley Hall. And… I don't want to break my promise to Papa."

His mother tilted her head quizzically. "What promise to your Papa?"

"I promised him I wouldn't do ohrscherfung."

She furrowed her brow. "When, Greylo'?"

"At Viggo's sixteenth birthday. He said that he didn't want Viggo to do it, and he didn't want me to do it. And I promised him I wouldn't."

Evelina looked confused. "I will have to speak to your father about this," she said, standing.

Greylock didn't know what to say, so he simply let her leave. "Goodnight," she said once she reached the door.

"Goodnight," he mumbled.

Greylock lay awake, thinking, late into the night. He thought about what his mother had said— she wouldn't be disappointed if he didn't get shpitzohren. Was that true, or was she simply saying this to make him feel less pressured?

He knew he meant what he said, though. He had always wanted shpitzohren, and he wanted them all the more as he began to understand how the ruling and noble classes were trying to suppress it. But it would be the most painful thing he had ever experienced, by far. Could he take it? Was he brave enough? Was he man enough?

Many would say that he wasn't much of a man at all— he loved a boy. His own family, those who would be in attendance at his ohrscherfung, would likely think this emasculated him, rendered him unworthy of the sign of manhood.

Was that not all the more reason to go through with the custom? To prove to himself that having feelings for a boy did not make him effeminate or weak, or any less of a man than those he looked up to?

But perhaps he was weak, for he didn't know that he could bear the pain.

He thought of using magic to numb his ears, but that would be humiliating. It would make him unworthy of shpitzohren, certainly.

Of course, there were also his concerns about his classmates at school. He was fairly popular there, so he felt fairly confident that he wouldn't be bullied too mercilessly, but he dreaded the endless questions, the concern, the confusion, the ignorance of the cultural significance of it. But this was not as big of a problem, to him. He knew he was strong enough to withstand that; it was the pain he feared.

The next day was Saturday. As always, Greylock spent much of the day practicing music. He was playing his violin, drilling his scales, when he heard a knock at the door.

"Grey, I'd like to talk to you."

It was his father. Greylock straightened, suddenly hyper-aware of every possible flaw in his playing. "Yes, Papa?"

His father opened the door and entered his bedroom before gently shutting the door behind him.

"Grey, your mother told me about your conversation last night," he started.

Greylock took his violin off his shoulder. He waited for the man to continue.

"It seems there was a… misunderstanding. I never told you I didn't want you or Viggo to get your ears done."

"Yes you did," Greylock said. "At Viggo's birthday. You said that."

"You must be remembering incorrectly," Lars replied firmly. "I would never say such a thing. You know I respect our heritage."

Greylock knew he was right, but he also knew it wasn't worth it to argue. "You're right. I suppose I… I didn't remember correctly. I'm sorry, Papa."

"It's alright, Grey."

"So you… You wouldn't mind if I had ohrscherfung?"

"Not at all," said Lars. "Though I wouldn't mind if you didn't, either. As your mother told you, it's your choice."

Greylock finally looked at his father. "Thank you."

The man smiled slightly and gave a curt nod. "That's my boy. Now repeat those scales, eh? You were going flat."

Greylock looked down. "Yes, Papa."

Lars left without another word. A very typical interaction with his father.

Greylock woke with a start, panting and bolting upright in his bed. This was the second nightmare about ohrscherfung he'd had in the week since his mother had brought it up. His ears throbbed with the imagined pain of a phantom knife slicing through skin and cartilage.

He was scared. He didn't know if he could do it.

Greylock loved his kingdom dearly, and he was proud of his heritage. He loved to speak Old Rudistani, and he loved to wear his shtrickveste and display his familienmotif, and he loved to eat the traditional food his mother cooked, to sing folksongs and do the traditional dances at festivals… And he wanted the shpitzohren, too. He wanted them so badly, and not to please his family, but to show the world that he was Rudistani, that he was proud, that he would not be modernized. But he was scared.

After school that day, he went to his brother's room and knocked on his door.

"Yeah?"

"It's Greylock. Can I talk to you for a bit?"

"It had better not be about your dumb crush."

Greylock turned pink. "No, it isn't."

"Okay, then you can come in."

The younger boy entered the room. Viggo was laying on his bed, reading something. Viggo was eighteen; nineteen in six months. He was becoming a real adult. He had an apprenticeship with a baker in their city, and would soon have enough money to leave home. Viggo was a valuable source of wisdom, except for in the realm of romance.

"What's on your mind, Gaylock?"

The boy tried not to flinch at the nickname, reminding himself that Viggo didn't know, that the nickname was older than his feelings for Cedric. "I'll be sixteen in a few months. I'm thinking about ohrscherfung."

Viggo smiled. "Awesome! I can't wait for you to get ears to match mine."

Greylock's stomach sank. "I want to get it done, but I'm… really scared."

Viggo nodded. "So was I."

The younger boy cocked his head in surprise. "...Really? But you seemed so… confident."

"I was scared out of my mind, but tried not to show it," Viggo said. "Especially not to you."

"Why especially not to me?"

"Because you're my little brother. I didn't want you to see me scared. Especially not since my experience would shape your opinion on having ohrscherfung."

Greylock nodded. "Yeah, it did. That's part of the reason I'm so scared."

"Why? Mine went so well! I didn't get an infection or anything!"

"But… The way you were screaming when Oma Erna and Tanti Anna cut into your ears…" Greylock shuddered. "I still remember how that sounded."

"Well of course I was screaming. My ears were being sliced up."

"You're so… nonchalant about it. You were even then," Greylock said. "Was that all… a show?"

"Partially. But after it was done, the pain was the last thing I cared about. I was with my family, and everyone was so proud of me. And then I got to eat a bunch of desserts."

Greylock considered this. "So you think it was all worth it?"

Viggo nodded. "Completely and without a doubt. I've never regretted it, even for a moment. No one I know ever has."

A couple months later, Greylock was eating lunch with his friends at school, and Cordelia approached the table to invite them all to her upcoming birthday party. Greylock eagerly accepted the invitation, his heart leaping in his chest at the knowledge that Cedric would be there.

"Grey, isn't your birthday coming up?" asked Greylock's friend, Prudence, who was sitting across the table from him.

"Yeah, in about a month," Greylock replied before taking a bite of his apple.

"Are you having a party?" Cordelia asked, sitting down next to Greylock.

"No," he answered. He swallowed. "Well, yeah, I guess, but… Only for family."

"Why's that?" asked another friend, Raymond. "Your parties are always so much fun!"

"Well, sixteenth birthdays are… special for boys in Rudistan," Greylock said.

"What do you mean?" probed Cordelia.

"Well, in our culture, sixteen is when we traditionally 'come of age'," Greylock started. "And we do this special… ritual kind of thing called 'ohrscherfung'."

"Orsha-what?" asked another boy, William.

"Ohrscherfung. It's…" Greylock cleared his throat. "Well, you get your ears made to look pointy."

"How? With magic?" questioned Prudence.

Greylock sighed. "No. They cut out part of the top of your ear with a really small, sharp knife and then sew it together."

The others at the table gawked at him.

"Doesn't that… hurt?" asked Raymond.

"Yeah, of course. But being able to withstand the pain proves that you're a man."

The others blinked at him, still confused and shocked. Greylock continued to eat his apple, finding that he didn't care.

It was the evening of his sixteenth birthday. The children of the family had all left, along with much of Greylock's father's side. Mads had offered Greylock potions and spells to ease his pain, and Greylock happily refused.

Greylock sat in the same chair in the same room as his brother had sat in three years prior, surrounded by the same relatives, with the addition of Agnes who had begged to watch. Lars looked just as pale as he had at Viggo's ohrscherfung.

"Greylock, are you still sure you want to go through with this?" Evelina asked him.

"Yes, I am," the boy answered firmly.

"It's not too late to change your mind."

"My mind is made up."

His mother smiled warmly. "I'm proud of you, Greylo'."

She stepped aside to soak a cloth in the diluted alcohol mixture, and returned to clean the tips of Greylock's ears.

Once she was done, Viggo handed his younger brother ice wrapped in wet cloths. Greylock took them and pressed them to his ears. The cold was intense, almost painful.

He couldn't hear much with the ice over his ears, but he assumed from where his mother was looking that his Oma Erna and Tanti Anna were updating her on how long they would need to heat their tools.

Greylock was nervous and excited and eager for the whole thing to be over. He tried to avoid looking at his father, instead focusing on the smiling faces of the rest of his family, especially those proud men with shpitzohren who were excited to welcome Greylock to their pointy-eared ranks.

In a minute, Greylock saw the two older women approach him, and his stomach leapt as he realized this was the cue to get rid of the ice. Viggo dutifully took it away from him.

His mother reached to touch the tops of his ears. "Do you feel this?" she asked.

"No," answered Greylock. All he felt was cold.

"You're still certain you want to do this?"

"Yes, Mama," Greylock said.

She smiled and knelt in front of him. "Parfett."

Greylock's aunt handed him a rag, which he preemptively stuck in his mouth. The two ladies handed their needles to Evelina, who held them carefully by the base. She extended her other hand to Greylock. He took it wordlessly.

He could barely feel his grandmother and aunt touching his ears, numb as they were from the cold.

Eventually, his aunt spoke. "Ready?"

Greylock grunted an affirmation.

The woman counted down from three, and Greylock steeled himself.

Then Greylock felt hot, searing pain in both of his ears. His eyes, which had been squeezed shut, flew open as he let out a yelp. He felt the knives slice through the tissue, and he screamed in agony. He held his mother's hand firmly as he felt tears forming in his eyes. Oh God, this was the most unbelievably horrible pain he had ever fathomed, and it had only just started. It was all he could do to not beg for it to stop, for he knew it would be worth it in the end.

He hadn't stuck around this long in his brother's ohrscherfung, so he didn't know what was next. He saw (with his one good eye, anyway) the two bloody chunks of his own flesh that had been cut away from his ears being removed and discarded. His stomach turned at the sight and he let out another scream.

Then he felt the needles. They punctured his ears, and then he could feel the threads being pulled through his skin, again and again. He couldn't contain his shouts of agony, nor the hot tears that streamed down his cheeks.

After an eternity, he heard the threads being snipped, and he felt bandages being shoved into the newly formed points of his ears, and then wrapped around the outsides.

"It's done," said his Oma in her heavy accent.

Greylock pulled the rag out of his mouth, and, despite it all, smiled and laughed. He wiped his tears away with the rag and looked at his mother's beaming face, then at his grandmother and aunt, at his brother, and at everyone else in the room. They were all applauding and cheering, huge smiles on their faces.

It was like Viggo said; the last thing that mattered to him was the pain.

Old Rudistani translations

1. Ohrscherfung — literally "ear sharpening"

2. Tshats— dear

3. Herts — heart

4. "Vir verden zei bereit in ein parr minuten" — "We will be ready in a couple minutes"

5. "Es ist tseit" — "It is time"

6. Byen — good

7. Shpitzohren — literally "pointed ears"

8. Liebling — darling

* In Old Rudistani, the sounds "gr" and "ck" are pronounced with a harsh throaty consonant, like the kind found in languages such as Dutch and Hebrew. Greylock is a classic Rudistani name, and in the language it is pronounced like "Cheyloch" or ['ɣeɪlɔɣ]. "Greylo" is a traditional short form of the name and is pronounced like "Cheylow" or ['ɣeɪlo].

9. Shtrickveste — literally "knit vest"; a sweater vest that is part of traditional Rudistani garb.

10. Familienmotif — literally "family motif/patten"; colours and patterns passed down through Rudistani families that denoted their trade, class, hometown, and other information. These are incorporated onto many elements of traditional old Rudistani clothing, especially shtrickvestes.

11.Parfett — perfect