A herd of cows lumbered around a field nearby, chewing at grass that would eventually poison them, udders hanging slack and dry. One of them was mothering a calf, but it was a weak, diseased-looking thing, its red coat faded almost to white from lack of sustenance. A few sheebok wandered across the farmyard, lapping water from a small pond. They bleated and butted one another with shorn horns.

The farm wolf watched them walk in across the fields, eyes glittering and pelt rich and full. Some were eating well, at least. It remained stationary until Rafe and Hope passed the first of the outbuildings, and then it let out a short, loud bark.

From their left came the sound of something heavy stamping and shifting in an enclosed barn. Hope glanced at Rafe and nodded. “Horses,” she said.

Rafe felt strangely at home. Trengborne had been a whole farming community, a hundred times larger than this place and far more advanced, and yet the smells and sights and sounds were the same: sheebok dung; a rack of tools in the farmyard; the background grunts and grumble of farm animals eating and drinking and sleeping. On closer inspection he saw that the sheebok all had eye-rot, and he wanted to find a redspit plant to shred and put in their water. But he guessed that the farmer knew his work, however bad a state his herds were in. Rafe’s interference would not be appreciated.

Rafe heard a harsh whisper from out of sight. Running footsteps echoed behind one of the buildings. From behind the house more frantic whispers, the metallic sound of weapons clinking together, a hissed curse.

“Stand still, boy,” Hope said when they reached the center of the yard. The wolf stood by the door to the farmhouse, watching them, bushy tail high. “They’ll likely challenge us, but let me do the talking.”

“But I’m a farmer, I’ll know—”

“You’re from a village, not a farm like this. These people will be used to fighting off bandits and tumblers, not sitting around nursing furbats.”

Rafe felt slighted but he did as Hope said, standing still, arms held out from his sides to show that he was hiding no weapons.

The call came from their left.

“Who are you? What do you want?” The woman stepped out from behind the farmhouse, and as she strode into the yard the wolf stepped along by her side.

“My name’s Hope, and I want to buy two horses from you. This here is Rafe.”

“You’re a witch.” The woman had stopped a few paces from them, staring mostly at Hope and the tattoos illustrating her skin.

“Yes, a witch. I’ve got some trades I’d like to offer, if you’ve a mind.”