Dag fell very quiet for a little, then said, “I’d walk with her.”

Nattie’s brows went up. “You’d break with your people? Can you?”

“Not by choice.” His shrug failed to conceal deep unease. “But if they chose to break with me, I couldn’t very well stop them.”

Fawn blinked, suddenly disquieted. She’d dreamed only of what joy they might bring to each other. But that keelboat seemed to be towing a whole string of barges she hadn’t yet peeked into. Dag had, it seemed.

“Huh-huh-hm,” said Nattie. She tapped her cane gently on the floorboards. “I’m thinkin’ too, patroller. I got two hands. So does Fawn, actually.”

Dag seemed to freeze, staring at Nattie sharply. “I’m…not at all sure that would work.” He added after a longer moment, “I’m not at all sure it wouldn’t. I have some know-how. Fawn knows this land, she can help gather the necessaries. Hair from each of us, other things. Mine’s a bit short.”

“I have tricks for dealing with short fibers,” said Nattie equitably.

“You have more than that, I think. Spark…’’ He turned to her. “Give me a piece your aunt has made. I want to hold something of her making. Something especially fine, you know?”

“I think I know what he’s wanting. Look in that trunk at the foot of my bed, lovie,” said Nattie. “Fletch’s wedding shirt.”

Fawn hopped up, went around to the wooden trunk, and lifted the lid. The shirt was right on top. She picked it up by the shoulders, letting the white fabric fall open. It was almost finished, except for the cuffs. The smocking around the tops of the sleeves and across the yoke in back was soft under her touch, and the buttons, already sewn down the front placket, were carved of iridescent mussel shell, cool and smooth.

She brought it to Dag, who laid it out in his lap, touching it clumsily and gingerly with his right fingertips and, more hesitantly, letting his hook hand drift above it, careful not to snag. “This isn’t just one fiber, is it?”

“Linen for strength, cotton for softness, a bit of nettle flax for the shimmer,” Nattie said. “I spun the thread special.”

“Lakewalker women never spin or weave thread so fine. It takes too much time, and we never have enough of that.”

Fawn glanced at his coarse shirt, which she had thought shoddy, with a new eye. “I remember helping Nattie and Mama set up the loom for that cloth, last winter. It took three days, and was so tedious and finicky I thought I’d scream.”