Missing Blackthorn. A lot. Worrying about her, which is stupid. I know she can look after herself. Know she’s probably glad to get me out of her way for a while. But I worry anyway. Got word from one of the Longwater men that she’s moved over to the prince’s house, so she’s not all on her own. Doesn’t make me feel better, though. Every time I make a brew I want to put a cup out for her. Like that might make her come walking up out of nowhere, saying, How are you, big man? Almost wish one of us would do himself an injury, give me an excuse to go and fetch her.

I’m not sleeping much, between the wild man’s muttering, my own stupid thoughts going round and round, cows shuffling and mooing. In the night I do exercises. Bardán doesn’t complain. Sleeps through it or lies there looking at me but not seeing me. There’s a high window, up where the owl roosts. Open to the sky. That’s how I know if Bardán’s awake or not. His eyes give back the moonlight.

By morning I’m always tired. Mostly I know what needs doing, so I tell the crew and we all get on with it. Sometimes we’re starting something new and we have to wait for Bardán to explain. He tells about the fiddly bits, the bits I can guess are part of the heartwood house story. Little wedges here and there. Those wattle-and-mud walls, up above the stone part. All needing to be done exactly by the rules. Seventeen wattles side to side, five-and-twenty bottom to top. Why? Who knows. But make one mistake and the luck drains right out of the place. That’s what Bardán says. Nobody tells him it’s rubbish. Nobody says it’s making the build three times as hard as it should be. They just get on with the work.

The master comes up every day to have a look. If I spot him in time I get Bardán out of the way. Can’t be sure I’d keep my temper if he hurt the wild man again. Day comes when I need to ask Tóla about the thatch.

‘Fellows have done a good job,’ I say. ‘Be ready to start thatching well before you were planning. You should be looking for someone who’s got the straw now and wants to sell it. Someone who had more than they needed for the winter. And kept it dry. Can’t have anything mouldy.’

‘How long?’ Tóla asks.