Paks grinned. "Not yet. I want to check on Star."

"Sevri'll feed her—"

"Yes, but she's used to me. And I'm used to being up early." Paks went out the side door of the common room into the stable yard. The green tailed rooster was racing after a hen, and a clutter of cats crouched near the cowbyre. Paks watched as a stream of milk shot out the door, neatly fielded by one of the cats. She went into the stable, and found Star looking over the top of the stall door. The pony looked well-rested, and Paks rubbed her behind the ears and under the jaw. When she checked her tack, the packbags were intact.

"Is it all right?" asked Sevri, who had come into the passage.

"Yes, fine. I didn't realize I'd gotten up too early for you."

"It's not. Most of the travelers sleep late, that's all. Some of them sleep through breakfast. Star doesn't get much grain, does she?"

"Not when she's not working. Let's see your measure—oh, half of that, and tell me where your hay is—I'll bring it."

"Over there—" Sevri nodded toward a ladder that rose to the loft. "You can just throw it down, if you want."

Paks was already up the ladder. "Why don't I throw down what you need for all of them?"

"You don't have to—but if you wish—" Sevri looked up as Paks tossed down an armload for Star.

"It's no trouble; I'm already up here."

Sevri peered up at her. "I didn't think soldiers knew how to care for animals."

"I grew up on a farm," said Paks shortly. "How much more hay?"

"Just pitch it down, and I'll tell you." Sevri disappeared from the hold, and Paks threw down several armloads. "That should do it. We have just the two big horses in." Paks climbed down, brushing off the hay.

"Who does your milking?" she asked, wondering if Sevri did everything but the inside work.

"My brother, Cal," said Sevri. "He's got bigger hands; it takes me too long, and Brindle is a crabby cow." Paks laughed.

"We milked our sheep," she said.

"Sheep?"

"Yes. I've never milked a cow, but I've milked my last sheep. I hope." Paks watched as the girl dumped hay into each feeder. She noticed a blaze-faced black horse that laid its ears back when Sevri neared the stall: obviously one of the "big horses" she'd mentioned. "When can I ask for breakfast, without being rude?"

"There won't be anything cooked, yet," said Sevri doubtfully. "The bread's out, and you could have eggs and cold roast and bread, if that's enough."

"It's plenty." Her stomach churned in anticipation.

"Just tell father, then."

"Thanks." Paks returned to the common room to find the innkeeper waiting.