“I don’t know what’s keeping my patrol,” he remarked after a time, opening his eyes again to stare down the lane. “It’s not like Mari to get lost in the woods. If they don’t show soon, I’ll have to try and bury those poor dogs myself. They’re getting pretty ripe.”

“Dogs?”

He made an apologetic gesture. “The farm dogs. Found ’em out behind the barn yesterday. The only animals that weren’t carried off, seemingly. I think they died defending their people. Figured they ought to be buried nice, maybe up in the woods where it’s shady. Dogs ought to like that.”

Fawn bit her lip, wondering why this made her suddenly want to burst into tears when she had not cried for her own child.

He glanced down at her, his expression growing diffident. “Among Lakewalker women, a loss like yours would be a private grief, but she would not be so alone. She’d maybe have her man, closest friends, or kin around her. Instead, you’re stuck with me. If you”—he ducked his head nervously—“need to weep, be sure that I wouldn’t mistake it for any lack of strength or courage on your part.”

Fawn shook her head, lips tight and miserable. “Should I weep?”

“Don’t know. I don’t know farmer women.”

“It’s not about being a farmer.” She held out her hand, which clenched. “It’s about being stupid.”

After a moment, he said in a very neutral tone, “You use that word a lot. Makes me wonder who used to whip you with it.”

“Lots of people. Because I was.” She lowered her gaze to her lap, where her hands now twisted the loose fabric of her gown. “It’s funny I can tell you this. I suppose it’s because I never saw you before, or will again.” The man was carrying out her revolting blood clots, after all. Before yesterday, the very thought would have slain her with embarrassment. She remembered the fight in the cave, the bear-man…the deathly breath of the malice. What was a mere stupid story, compared to that?

His silence this time took on an easy, listening quality. Unhurried. She felt she might fill it in her own good time. Out in the fields, a few early-summer insects sang in the weeds.

In a lower voice she said, “I didn’t mean to have a child. I wanted, wanted, something else. And then I was so scared and mad.”

Seeming to feel his way as cautiously as a hunter in the woods, he said, “Farmer customs aren’t like ours. We hear pretty lurid songs and tales about them. Your family—did they cast you out?” He scowled; Fawn was not sure why.

She shook her head harder. “No. They’d have taken care of me and the child, if they’d been put to it. I didn’t tell them. I ran away.”