A small towheaded boy suddenly shoved his head out past his mother’s skirts.

“Who’s that?” he demanded. And then, almost with admiration, “He’s really fat!” “Hush, Sem. Get back inside.” She looked at me speculatively. I could almost see her decide that I wasn’t much of a threat. She was small but stocky. She had to use both hands to steady the pistol. She lowered the heavy gun, but now the barrel menaced my legs. “I don’t have much to spare.”

“I’d be content with anything hot, and a dry place to spend the night,” I said humbly. “I can pay.”

She laughed in a sour way. “And where would I spend it? I’ve got no use for money. Can’t eat it. Can’t burn it.” Her blue eyes were hard. I didn’t doubt the truth of her words. She looked as worn as her clothing. Her dark hair was knotted back in a no-nonsense way that spoke only of practicality, not attractiveness or even neatness. The skin of her hands was rough. The boy’s eyes looked too large in his thin face.

I could think of nothing else to offer. “Please,” I begged. She tightened her mouth and narrowed her eyes. It made her look like a thoughtful cat. I stood humbly before her, hoping. Two more children peeped out around the door frame. One was an older girl of about five, the other a curly-headed toddler. The woman shooed them back, then looked me up and down skeptically. “Can you work?” she asked me coldly.

“That I can,” I promised her. “What do you need done?” Her smile was tight. “What don’t I need done? Winter’s coming. Look at this place! I’ll be lucky if it stands through the first storm.” She sighed and then said, “You can put your horse in that house over there. We use it for a shed. The roof doesn’t leak much.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She almost winced. “I’m not ma’am. I’m not that old. I’m Amzil.” I spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening chopping wood. She had an old ax with a splintery handle. I put an edge on it with a stone. She had been turning the adjacent buildings into firewood, but the ax was big for her and the house timbers too heavy. She’d been limited by the size of log she could chop through. “The little ones burn up too fast. I can’t build a fire that lasts the night,” she told me.