The flock Shepherd Orren was moving milled behind him while his working dog went up on back legs to dangle white-tipped paws over the top of the wall while his nose identified the two men in the shed. The dog yipped. An answering yip came from the tall grass beyond the shed. Topknot lurched out of hiding to tear across the path to greet the other dog.

Lysander straightened, concerned. Bing clucked at him, the same noise he used to bring Topknot down from high alert. "Don't worry so. And why shouldn't she run to greet her own cousin, then?"

Lysander was beginning to understand the complex interrelated family structures of the dale, and it seemed that the pedigrees of the best working dogs were as much common knowledge as the boundary lines themselves.

Bing stepped forward to address their visitor. "You'll be glad enough when this young fellow is done with his task, Orren! I happen to know that there is a lady in your house who is still spittin' mad about getting all fitted up in her finery for nothing." Bing rocked on his heels, enjoying Shepherd Orren's confused expression, although Lysander would've preferred not to remind the gigantic fellow of the loss of a certain pavilion and therefore the sacrifice of a cheerful country dance event.

Bing went on. "We was just deliberatin' the best method of scrubbing down these walls. Unless you think your missus be wantin' sheep shit smeared on her best skirts?"

Orren's jaw dropped as he stared at them. "It's a shearing shed! It's nowt but a filthy —" The man's gaze focused on the shadowy space beyond Lysander and Bing. Lysander could almost hear the heavy tumblers dropping into place in the fellow's mind.

"Oh, aye! I've got a few worn-out scrub brushes from the dairy that'll do the job, right and proper." Orren straightened and whistled a complex melody to his dog. His dog took off to run a lightning circle around the flock, hemming it in as thoroughly as any fence. "I'll send one of the lads up with the brushes."

"Vinegar!" Lysander hadn't meant to bark it as an order. It'd been a very long time since he had commanded anyone. However, Orren only nodded. "Aye and a bucket of good clean sand from the riverbank for scrubbing."

Orren not only sent up the brushes, river sand and vinegar, but two of his older sons and a farmhand as well.

Bing was tartly elated at the prospect of others to do all the work. "Sam up, lads! The lasses will be a'kissin' the lot of you when we turn this place about!"

Orren's lanky, half-grown sons were hard workers once convinced that the shearing shed could be turned into a proper assembly hall.

"We'll be needing lanterns," one of them offered.

"Aye, and benches as well."