A broad hearth at one end of the room heated it beyond summer, and was crowded with pots hanging from iron hooks. Delectable smells of ham and beans, corn and bread and cooking fruit mingled in the moist air, noon meal in the making for the gang of hay cutters. The farmwife folded back a cloth from a lumpy row on a side table, fresh loaves from a workday that had doubtless started before dawn. Despite her nausea Fawn’s mouth watered, and she picked out a loaf that the woman told her was rolled inside with crystal honey and hickory nuts. Fawn fished out a coin, wrapped the loaf in her kerchief, and took it back outside. The woman walked along with her.

“The water’s clean and free, but you have to draw it yourself,” the woman told her, as Fawn tore off a corner of the loaf and nibbled. “Ladle’s on the hook. Which way were you heading, child?”

“To Glassforge.”

“By yourself?” The woman frowned. “Do you have people there?”

“Yes,” Fawn lied.

“Shame on them, then. Word is there’s a pack of robbers on the road near Glassforge. They shouldn’t have sent you out by yourself.”

“South or north of town?” asked Fawn in worry.

“A ways south, I heard, but there’s no saying they’ll stay put.”

“I’m only going as far south as Glassforge.” Fawn set the bread on the bench beside her pack, freed the latch for the crank, and let the bucket fall till a splash echoed back up the well’s cool stone sides, then began turning.

Robbers did not sound good. Still, they were a frank hazard. Any fool would know enough not to go near them. When Fawn had started on this miserable journey six days ago, she had cadged rides from wagons at every chance as soon as she’d walked far enough from home not to risk encountering someone who knew her. Which had been fine until that one fellow who’d said stupid things that made her very uncomfortable and followed up with a grab and a grope. Fawn had managed to break away, and the man had not been willing to abandon his rig and restive team to chase her down, but she might have been less lucky. After that, she’d hidden discreetly in the verge from the occasional passing carts until she was sure there was a woman or a family aboard.

The few bites of bread were helping settle her stomach already. She hoisted the bucket onto the bench and took the wooden dipper the woman handed down to her. The water tasted of iron and old eggs, but was clear and cold. Better. She would rest a while on this bench in the shade, and perhaps this afternoon she would make better time.