Fawn entered the staircase ahead of Dag and turned sideways to let Utau, clumping up to collect more gear to load, pass her by. Dag smiled brightly at his sometime-linker. Utau’s head cranked over his shoulder in astonishment, and he walked into the far wall with a muffled thud, righted himself, and wheeled to stare. Prudently deciding to ignore that, Dag followed Fawn before Utau could speak. Dag suspected he needed to get better control of his stretching mouth, as well as of his sparking ground. A responsible, mature, respected patroller should not walk about grinning and glowing like some dementedly carved pumpkin. It was like to frighten the horses.

Mari’s patrol was slated to ride north and pick up their pattern again where it had been broken off almost two weeks ago by the call for aid. With his patrol’s purse newly topped off by the Glassforgers, Chato planned to continue on his mission to purchase horses from the limestone country south of the Grace. He would be slowed on the first leg by a wagon to carry Saun and Reela, neither quite ready to ride yet; the pair were to finish convalescing at a Lakewalker camp that controlled a ferry crossing down on the river, and be picked up again on the return journey. Both patrols had planned their removals for the crack of noon, a merciful hour. Dag sensed Chato’s moderating influence at work. Mari was perfectly capable of ordering a dawn departure after a bow-down, then concealing her evil hilarity behind a rod-straight face as her bleary troop stumbled out. Mari was far and away Dag’s favorite relative, but that was a pretty low fence to get over, and he prayed to the absent gods that he might avoid her altogether this morning.

After breakfast Dag helped lug the last of Saun’s gear to the wagon, and turned to find his prayers, as usual, unanswered. Mari stood holding the reins of her horse, staring at him in mute exasperation.

He let his eyebrows rise, trying desperately not to smile. Or worse, chortle. “What?”

She drew a long breath, but then just let it out. “Besotted fool. There’s no more use trying to talk to you this morning than to those twittering wrens in that elm across the yard. I said my piece. I’ll see you back in camp in a few weeks. Maybe the novelty will have worn off by then, and you’ll have your wits back, I don’t know. You can do your own blighted explaining to Fairbolt, is all I can say.”

Dag’s back straightened. “That I will.”

“Eh!” She turned to gather her reins, but then turned back, seriousness replacing the aggravation in her eyes. “Be careful of yourself in farmer country, Dag.”

He would have preferred a tart dressing-down to this true concern, against which he had no defense. “I’m always careful.”