Cara realized the old woman, Nuiena, was giving her a hint. So Cara took a bucket from the well, drew one—and filled the basin that the [Harvester] had been filling a cup from all morning. Then she went over, had a chat with the young man who Violetta had pointed out, filled his reservoir, and repeated the process.

Hauling buckets of water was a surprisingly difficult task the eighteenth time you did it. Cara realized that those weight room machines that had those lifting bars were probably based on this exercise.

“I’m so out of shape.”

She puffed as she brought Idelt some water. The [Blacksmith] was surprised. He was sharpening a scythe on a wheel—then using a whetstone to finish the job. He gratefully accepted the water, but shook his head.

“You needn’t do that, Miss Cara. We normally have a boy or girl do it if need be. Or we can haul the water…”

“I’m useless everywhere else. I might as well not get in people’s ways. I just realized—I’m probably weaker than everyone but an actual child. Even Violetta hauls that cello around! I can barely draw water!”

Idelt blinked—then his lips quirked a tiny bit. He instantly made his face smooth, but Cara saw his fingers drum on his arm. She was delighted! And she realized—the drumming fingers spoke for him.

“Go ahead and laugh. I deserve it.”

“I would never.”

He coughed into his arm again. Cara was getting used to his ticks. She smiled.

“Well, that’s my class. My real class, I mean. [Singer] is my um…highest leveled one? But I normally do strut about. Sometimes for laughs, sometimes to impress people.”

“Ah. Then you’re a [Bard]?”

Idelt carefully examined the edge of the blade. Cara shook her head.

“[Actor]. It’s um…like a [Performer]? Only, I act out stories.”

The man nodded carefully. He treated the edge of the scythe with great respect as he put it aside.

“I don’t know the class. But I’ve seen such stories before. Perhaps you could perform that, then? Later—

”

Cara was nodding as Violetta’s music drifted across the village, a background. A constant one, which gave meaning to the monotonous chores. Enjoyment at all times. A brilliant idea.

And it did not cease, except when Violetta took short breaks. It was always there—

Until the [Hunter] came running into the village. His name was Rethis. He was armed with a bow, arrows—and a long dagger for skinning and hunting. The man’s face was white. He shouted one thing into the calm village.

“The bear’s dead!”

The music cut off with a strangled screech of strings.

——