He scrambled to his feet and backed away, holding the lute as if it might shield him from attack. “She hides us, it’s all she can do against the others, for they have all become corrupt and soon their shadow will darken every heart. It’s just that the dogs didn’t bark at you. Why is that? What power do you have that can charm the dogs? Is it all for nothing, all that she has done for us to spare us?” Tears ran down his cheeks. He wept for what his folk had lost. And he continued backing away, angling so she had to turn to keep facing him.

Desperately, she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m seeking answers. I’m lost.”

“That’s what they all say. That’s what she warns us they will say, trying to get inside us, to get past the defenses she taught us to build. Nothing is safe. Nothing.”

For so many years the protection had held. Now, in an instant, all had fallen, fallen. The shadow will grow, and in the end it will consume even those trying to hide from it.

Marit swayed, struck by the hammer blow of his fear and grief. The sun cleared a cloud; its light forced her to raise a hand to spare her eyes. He had turned her, so the sun’s glamour blinded her.

He whistled. The dogs bolted into action, rounding up the bleating sheep. He grabbed a pack that had lain concealed in the grass. Silver ribbons to mark the new year fluttered from the buckle of the pack where he had tied them. The Year of the Silver Deer followed the Year of the Black Eagle, only in that case why weren’t there only two ribbons tied to his pack, appropriate to the Deer? Why were there eight ribbons, the number of the Fox? He loped away from her with his lute in one hand and the pack bumping up and down on his back.

The Year of the Silver Fox would fall nineteen years after the Year of the Black Eagle. So why was he celebrating it now?

She didn’t call after him. She recognized futility when she saw it. Anyway, she was still trembling with a fear that penetrated her entire body. She hadn’t “seen” into him. It was a trick, him speaking and her too tired or anxious to notice, or maybe a kind of magic she’d never heard of except in the tales: the magic of misdirection common to clever thieves and cunning jaryas. But he had recognized the change. He’d known she was doing it. That’s when he had run.

The lad and his dogs drove the sheep out of the meadow while she watched. The dogs yipped excitedly, eager to be on the move. Behind her, a creature stamped through the grass on her trail. She spun, grabbing at her knife. The mare trotted up beside her, wings furled.

“You warned me,” she said. “I just didn’t know what you meant.”