“Mm, but you see, on warm nights, no one complains if folks are gone for two hours and come back having forgotten the firewood. Bathing in the river, that’s another good one.”

“In the dark?” said Fawn doubtfully.

“In the river is even more the question. Especially when the season’s turned frosty. Walks, oh sure, that’s believable, when everyone’s been out slogging since dawn. Scouting around, too—that draws many selfless volunteers. Some dangerous squirrels out in those woods, they could mount an attack at any time. You can’t be too prepared.” A rumbling chuckle escaped his chest.

“Oh,” said Fawn, finally understanding. Her lips curled up, if only for the rare sight of the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.

“Followed by the breakups and the makeups and the people not talking to each other, or worse, going over it all again till you’re ready to stuff your head in your blanket and scream for the listening to it. Ah, well.” He vented a tolerant sigh. “The older patrollers generally have things worked out smooth, but the younger ones can be downright restive. It’s not as though folks’ lives stop for patrol. Walking the patterns isn’t some emergency where you can drop everything, deal heroically, and then go home for good and all. It all starts again tomorrow at dawn. And you’ll have to get up and walk your share just the same.” He stretched, joints creaking a bit, as if in contemplation of such an early start.

“It’s not that we’re all mad, you know, although sometimes it seems like it,” he went on in a lower voice. “Groundsense makes our moods very contagious. Not just by speech and gestures; it’s like it gets in the air.” His hand traced an upward spiral. “Now, for instance. Once a certain number of people open their grounds to each other, there starts to be…leakage. Bow-downs are really good for that. That building over there’s downright awash, right now. All sorts of things can start to seem like a good idea. Absent gods be thanked for the beer.”

“The beer?”

“Beer, I have concluded”—he held up an edifying finger, and Fawn began to realize that he was slightly drunk; people had kept the musicians well supplied with encouraging refreshment, earlier—“exists for the purpose of being blamed the next day. Very regrettable beverage, beer.”

“Farmers use it for that, too,” Fawn observed.

“A universal need.” He blinked. “I think I need some more.”

“Are you thirsty?”

“No.” He slumped down, staring at her sidelong. His eyes were dark pools in this light, like night condensed. The lanternlight made glimmering orange halos around his hair, and slid across his faintly sweat-sheened features like a caress. “Just considering the potential of regret…”