He knew, all right. But who would put matters right, if not the men of Calla Bryn Sturgis? Certainly there were no authorities, not so much as a sheriff, either high or low, in these parts. They were on their own. Even long ago, when the Inner Baronies had glowed with light and order, they would have seen precious little sign of that bright-life out here. These were the borderlands, and life here had always been strange. Then the Wolves had begun coming and life had grown far stranger. How long ago had it begun? How many generations? Tian didn’t know, but he thought “time out of mind” was too long. The Wolves had been raiding into the borderland villages when Gran-pere was young, certainly—Gran-pere’s own twin had been snatched as the two of them sat in the dust, playing at jacks. “Dey tuk im cos he closer to de rud,” Gran-pere had told them (many times). “If Ah come out of dee house firs’ dat day, Ah be closer to de rud an dey take me, God is good!” Then he would kiss the wooden crucie the Old Fella had given him, hold it skyward, and cackle.

Yet Gran-pere’s own Gran-pere had told him that in his day—which would have been five or perhaps even six generations back, if Tian’s calculations were right—there had been no Wolves sweeping out of Thunderclap on their gray horses. Once Tian had asked the old man, And did all but a few of the babbies come in twos back then? Did any of the old folks ever say? Gran-pere had considered this long, then had shaken his head. No, he couldn’t remember what the old-timers had ever said about that, one way or the other.

Zalia was looking at him anxiously. “Ye’re in no mood to think of such things, I wot, after spending your morning in that rocky patch.”

“My frame of mind won’t change when they come or who they’ll take,” Tian said.

“Ye’ll not do something foolish, T, will you? Something foolish and all on your own?”

“No,” he said.

No hesitation. He’s already begun to lay plans, she thought, and allowed herself a thin gleam of hope. Surely there was nothing Tian could do against the Wolves—nothing any of them could do—but he was far from stupid. In a farming village where most men could think no further than planting the next row (or planting their stiffies on Saturday night), Tian was something of an anomaly. He could write his name; he could write words that said I LOVE YOU ZALLIE (and had won her by so doing, even though she couldn’t read them there in the dirt); he could add the numbers and also call them back from big to small, which he said was even more difficult. Was it possible…?