Although bothered by the noise and bustle of the market, Paks had no trouble with the sheep on the way out—to her own and the shepherd's surprise. The sheep settled well in their temporary grazing ground, and Paks took up her assigned post on the far side while the other shepherds made camp and cooked supper. She had not thought to bring anything for lunch, planning to buy it in the market, so by evening she was hungry. When the first group had eaten, Selim called in the others to eat. Paks was given a bowl of porridge and a hunk of bread. She ate quickly, hardly noticing the others until she finished. Then she looked up to find them watching her.

"You eat like you thought there was more coming," commented Selim. She had, indeed, assumed there was more. He turned to the others. "Been living in a city for awhile, she has. Fine clothes. Eating well. Listen, now: we're sheepfarmers, not rich merchants or fancy warriors. We work hard for what we get; you'll get your fair share, but not a drop more. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Paks nodded, and cleaned her bowl. She was remembering that when she first joined the Duke's Company, the food had seemed rich and plenty—she had forgotten, in the years since, how her family had lived, and how she had longed for bakers' treats on market days.

"Good. You'll take first watch. Jenits, you relieve her at change. We'll start out at dawn."

In the next few days Paks became acquainted with hunger again. She felt cold and hunger as a force that dragged on her legs, making her labor to keep up with the flock. When a sheep broke free, and ran, she struggled to chase it, fighting a stitch in her side and leaden legs that would not hurry. Selim scolded her about it.

"By Gird's cudgel, this is the last time I'll hire on the Marshal-General's word! I've a half-grown lass that could do better!" Paks forebore to say that she herself, as a half-grown girl, had done better. She saw clearly that excuses would only make things worse. She ducked her head and promised to work harder. And she tried. But Selim and the others never came to trust her, always saw her as an outsider who had been forced on them by the Marshal-General. In addition, the wounds she'd received from the iynisin began to swell and redden again. They had never faded much, but now they looked and felt much as they had when she first came out in Kolobia. The shepherds looked at the marks they could see and muttered.

So it was that when the flocks were safe in the winter pastures of southern Fintha, Selim turned her away, and refused to hire her through the winter.