Drem didn’t hear what Fritha said, but Wispy didn’t seem to like it, stepping in front of her, blocking her way. She tried to go around him but he mirrored her, stepped with her. Some of his companions laughed. Drem put his barrel of apples in the wain, looking over his shoulder at Fritha.

Words passed between Wispy and Fritha, unheard but clearly angry in nature. Then Wispy slapped the basket, emptying its contents onto the ground. Red berries.

Berries picked from the woods, to sell in the market? Drem thought.

Fritha crouched down to scoop them back into her basket and Wispy raised a boot to stamp on them.

Before he’d realized he’d done it, Drem was standing over Fritha, Wispy sprawling on the ground. The sneer on his face quickly transformed into a snarl. His companions stepped away from the wall they’d been huddled around, seven of them, all giving Drem dark looks. The cloaked man pushed his hood back, revealing a shaved head and intense blue eyes.

‘Shouldn’t have done that,’ the bald man said.

Probably not, Drem thought. But what choice was there?

Drem didn’t like fighting. He hated it, in fact, thought it was pointless. He’d had one fight in his twenty-one years, when he was thirteen summers old, had broken the lad’s jaw. Sometimes at night he could still feel his knuckles slamming into flesh, the slap of meat, like a hammer hitting a steak, the crunch of jawbone and grind of teeth knocked loose. The memory of it made him feel sad.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said to Wispy on the ground, and offered a hand to help him rise.

‘Walk away,’ Fritha hissed to him, taking a step towards the market.

Wispy gripped his hand and pulled himself up, grinning.

Ah, see. Da was right. Polite and friendly fixes most problems.

Wispy was still grinning when he punched Drem in the gut, doubling him over.

A crunch in the side of Drem’s head, white light exploding in front of his eyes, something cold slamming into his face.

Dirt. Realized he was face-down on the ground.

‘Uh,’ he grunted, pushing up onto one elbow, the world out of focus for a moment. He blinked, saw Wispy was standing over him, still grinning, holding Fritha’s arm.

‘You’ll regret this,’ she snarled and slapped Wispy furiously, raking her nails across his cheek. Wispy howled, spat a curse and put his fist in Fritha’s face; her legs suddenly went wobbly, only the trapper holding her up.