“Give the cloth to her, Kiri,” said Mariya without looking toward her cousin. “Children, start walking out of camp. Stanyo, Asya, keep Danya between you, as she is smallest. Steady.”

Words filled Kirya’s heart, but they would not climb onto her tongue. The cloth subsided against her legs, and she folded it, in halves, and halves again, until it was a manageable bundle that she wrapped in a scrap of dirty hide scrounged from the ruins of the burned camp. She took her time, so Mariya and the children could walk out of camp.

Deliberately, she tossed the bundle to the dirt. A young man had crept up behind her. The gelding kicked, hard, and he yelped and hobbled back. Ears laid back, the gelding sidled around, looking ready to clip anyone who had the temerity to approach. Kirya began walking in Mari’s dust, hand on the reins, the gelding behind her.

The assembly remained silent for a few breaths, then burst into a babble of voices and exclamations and laughter and arguments. A man leading a horse pushed into her way, confronting her. She glared at him. When he did not move, her grief-blinded gaze finally saw him.

Estifio held the halter of the bay mare, the prize of their tiny herd. Without a word, he shoved the reins into her hand and slid away into the tribe. The mare settled in beside the gelding, content with this familiar place. Kirya kept walking, and somehow no one noticed because they had all crowded up to see the precious cloth the head-woman had acquired. Who cared about one more horse among the many the Vidrini owned? Who cared about the straggle of useless children, who were just more mouths to feed?

Precious mouths.

By the time they reached the grass beyond the camp, out of sight of the tents, Kirya was fighting sobs as rage and grief squeezed her. The gelding breathed hot on her neck.

Mariya halted. The children ran to her, huddling around, crying until she cracked stern words over their heads. “None of that, or we’ll never get home! Hush now!” She looked up, and saw the bay mare. The piebald greeted her companion with a friendly snort.

“Kiri! The mare!”

“Estifio handed her over to me while I was walking out. He ran away. I didn’t talk to him.”

“He’s not the one who betrayed us,” said Mari. She turned to the children. “Asya, you’ll ride the bay. You’re skilled enough to manage the trip bareback. Stanyo, you’ll ride with Kiri. Danya, you’ll ride with me.”

“No,” said Kirya. “I’m going after Kontas. You heard what she said. They traded him away just yesterday. I can catch up. The gelding is good for it. He’s the toughest horse we have.”

“What will you offer this eastern merchant? He’ll not care about the laws of the gods.”

“Neither did that motherless hag!”

“Hssh! Kiri! Of course she did. She doesn’t dare spit on the laws of the gods. A foreign woman sitting as headwoman over one of the tribes! She had to make the trade, or be seen to scorn the laws of the tribe that took her in. What could we truly have done to her? Nothing! So she didn’t have to give us anything, or even make the trade. That she feared looking like an outsider in the eyes of her tribe is the only reason we have the children back.”