She noticed that her scars from Kolobia had begun to fade again, as mysteriously as they darkened. This time, however, the pain did not fade with the color. It continued as a bitter bone-deep ache that sapped her strength. She did not think about it; she didn't think of anything much, but whether she could lift another shovel-full. Winter's grip strengthened; even within the courtyard there were days when the wind blew snow into a white mass that made it hard to breathe. She wore all her clothes, and still woke stiff in the mornings. Trade slowed, in the bitter cold, and the innkeeper told her she could sleep in the barn, now half-empty. It was warmer there, burrowing in straw, with animals heating the air.

She hoped to stay there all winter, but one night two drunken thieves drove her away. It began when they arrived, and handed their mule's lead-rope to one of the grooms. The tall one caught sight of Paks and nudged the other. She saw this, and ducked behind a partition, but heard their comments. Late that night, they came out to the barn, "to look at our mule," as they said. The grooms were gone; one to the kitchen, where he had a lover, and one to a tavern down the street. Paks had gone to sleep in a far stall, carefully away from the mule. They found her.

"Well, well—here's a pretty lass. Hello, yellow-hair—like a little present?" She woke to find them standing over her. The tall one whirled something shiny on a ribbon; the other one carried a branched candlestick with two candles. She looked around wildly. She was trapped in a corner stall; they stood in the door, chuckling. She scrambled up, backing away from them.

"By Simyits, I think she's scared. Surely you aren't a virgin, sweetling—why so frightened?" The shorter man came nearer. "Kevis, are you sure of her? It's easy to tell she works in the stables."

"Oh, I think so. It's the ugly ones and poor ones that appreciate presents. See this, sweetheart? It's a nice shiny ring. All for you, if you just—"

Paks jumped for the gap that had opened between them, trying to scream. As in a dream, little sound came out; the tall man grunted as she bumped into him, and grabbed her. His hand clamped over her mouth. "Now that's not nice, pretty lass—behave yourself." She struggled wildly, but the other man had set the candlestick on the stall partition grabbed her as well. "Quiet down, girl; you're not going anywh—Damn you, you stinking—" Paks had managed to get a finger between her teeth, but his other hand gripped her throat. She choked; the shorter man twisted her arms behind her.

"What, Cal?"

"She bit me, the stupid slut." Paks heard this through the roaring of her ears as he kept the pressure on her throat. "If we didn't need her, I'd—"