Rafe looked the woman over. She was quite young, not much older than him, but she had evidently had a hard life. Every second of it was etched into her face. There were scars across her chin and throat from some old accident or attack, and her eyes held no fear, only defiance.

“We have only three horses, so why should we give you two?”

“Because of what I can offer,” Hope said. She went to slip the bag from her shoulder and a man stepped from behind a shed to their right, leveling an over-and-under crossbow at them. He could kill them both within a heartbeat.

“I want no fight with you,” Hope said quietly.

“Looks like you’ve had enough of fighting for a while,” the man said, but the aim of his crossbow never wavered. Rafe could not tell whether he was tired or scared or bored.

“We’re running from a fight, if that’s what you mean. Forgive my appearance; I usually make more of an effort if I’m to meet new people.”

“Your hair’s a mess,” the woman said, and Rafe was sure he saw a blink of humor in her eyes.

“I lost my comb,” Hope said. The woman smiled.

“Running from a fight, eh?” the man asked. “Maybe you’re not much to fear, then.”

“No, we’re not,” Hope said.

“Do you bring the fight to us?” another woman asked, appearing from inside the farmhouse. She held a longbow, arrow strung and ready to loose. She was much older than the first woman—her mother?—and even from this distance Rafe could see that something terrible had happened to her; her face was a mass of pale scar tissue, knotted and badly healed.

“Not if we can make a deal good and quick,” the witch said. “Then we’ll be on our way.”

“What if we can’t make a deal?” the younger woman said, glancing at Rafe for the first time. He realized that she was much more frightened than she was willing to show.

“Then we will still be on our way,” Hope said. “Though we’d appreciate some food and water. We have a long way to go.”

“Are you being pursued?” the man asked.

“I don’t know.”

He stared at them along the length of his crossbow, eyes flickering from Hope to Rafe, back again. “I believe you,” he said. “So, this is how it happens. The boy comes to me. Witch, you deal with Josie. And when we’re all finished, everything goes back to normal.”

“That’s fine,” Hope said. Rafe stared at her—they want me as their guarantee!—but she merely looked at him and nodded. Rafe turned to the farmer, tried to meet his eyes and see the intent there, but he was inscrutable.