By the time he’d reaffixed the rope to the halter for reins and led the horse to the porch, murmuring promises of grain and a nice stall in Glassforge into the fuzzy flicking ears, Fawn was back out, breathless, with her bedroll slung over her shoulder, pelting Petti with good-byes and thank-yous. The honest warmth of them drew an answering smile from the farmwife seemingly despite herself.

“You be a lot more careful of yourself, now, girl,” Petti admonished.

“Dag will look after me,” Fawn assured her cheerily.

“Oh, aye.” Petti sighed, after a momentary pause, and Dag wondered what comment she’d just bit back. “That’s plain.”

From the mounting block of the porch, Dag slid readily aboard the mare’s bare back. Happily, the horse had wide-sprung ribs and no bony back ridge, and so was as comfortable to sit as a cushion; he needed to beg neither saddle nor pads from the farm. He stiffened his right ankle to make a stirrup of his foot for Fawn, and she scrambled up and sat across his lap as before. Wriggling into place, she smoothed her skirts and slipped her right arm around him. A little to his surprise, Petti shuffled forward and thrust a wrapped packet into Fawn’s hands.

“It’s only bread and jam. But it’ll keep you on the road.”

Dag touched his temple. “Thank you, ma’am. For everything.” His hand found the rope reins again.

She nodded stiffly. “You, too.” And, after a moment, “You just think about what I said, patroller. Or just think, anyways.”

This seemed to call for either no answer at all, or a long defensive argument; Dag prudently chose the first, helped Fawn tuck the packet in her bedroll, nodded again, and turned the horse away. He extended his groundsense to its limit in one last check, but nothing resembling an aggravated patroller beating through the bushes stirred for a mile in any direction, nor more distraught dying mud-men either.

The bay mare’s hooves scythed through the wiry chicory, its blossoms looking like bits of blue sky fallen and scattered along the ruts, and the nodding daisies. The farm men were dragging the mud-man’s corpse into the woods as they rode down the fence line. They all waved, and Sassa trotted over to the end of the lane in time to say, “Off to Glassforge already? I’ll be going in soon. If you see any of our folks, tell them we’re all right! See you in town?”

“Sure!” said Fawn, and “Maybe,” said Dag. He added, “If any of my people turn up here, would you tell them we’re all right and that I’ll meet them in town too?”

“’Course!” Sassa promised cheerily.