Tril paused in kneading biscuit dough to sigh. “I was afraid last spring Fawn was yearning after the Sawman boy, but that was never a hope. His papa and Jas Stonecrop had had it fixed between them for years that Sunny would marry Violet and the two farms would come together in the next generation. It’s going to be a rich spread, that one. If Violet has more than one boy, there may be enough to divide among them without the younger ones having to go off homesteading the way Reed and Rush keep talking of.”

The twins spoke of going to the edge of the cultivated zone, twenty miles or so west, and breaking new land between them, after Fletch married. It was a plan much discussed but so far little acted upon, Dag was given to understand. “Fathers arrange marriages, among farmers?”

“Sometimes.” Tril smiled. “Sometimes they just think they do. Sometimes the fathers have to be arranged. The land, though, or the family due-share for children who aren’t getting land—that has to be understood and written out and kept by the village clerk, or you risk bad blood later.”

Land again; farmers were all about land. Other wealth was thought of as land’s equivalent, it seemed. He offered, “Lakewalker couples usually choose each other, but the man is expected to bring bride-gifts to her family, which he is considered to be joining. Horses and furs, traditionally, though it depends on what he has accumulated.” Dag added, as if casually, “I have eight horses at the moment. The other geldings are on loan to the camp pool, except for Copperhead, who is too evil-tempered to foist on anyone else. The three mares I keep in foal. My brother’s wife looks after them along with her mares.”

“Camp pool?” Tril said, after a puzzled moment.

“If a man has more than he needs, he can’t just sit on it and let it rot. So it goes to the camp pool, usually to outfit a young patroller, and the camp scribe keeps a record of it. It’s very handy if you go to switch camps, because you can carry a letter of record and draw for your needs when you get there, instead of carrying all that burden along. At the hinterland meetings every two years, one of the jobs for the camp scribes is to meet and settle up any lingering differences. I have a long credit at Stores.” How to translate that into acreage temporarily defeated him, but he hoped she understood he was not by any measure destitute, despite his present road-worn appearance. He rubbed his nose reflectively with the side of his hook. “They tried me as a camp scribe for a while after I lost my hand, but I didn’t take to the fiddly work and all the writing. I wanted to be moving, out in the field.”