"Of course you haven't," Aiva said kindly. "But I'm afraid we have no wine. Perhaps some smoked fish. We've been preparing it for the colder turns, but we already have a good deal, and we've time to catch and smoke more."

Aiva looked at Giraan, a question in her eyes. He was reluctant to part with the fish, but he could see that she wanted the baskets, and she was right: They did have time before the end of the Harvest. They could catch more fish.

"Three whole fish," he said, facing the old woman. "In addition to the cheese and bread."

She nodded. "Done."

They stood in silence a moment, the woman eyeing him expectantly. Then he realized that Aiva was already holding the baskets she had chosen, and the stranger was waiting for her payment.

"Right," he said. "I'll get the food."

He turned, walked into the house, and quickly gathered the fish, cheese, and bread, wrapping them in an old cloth, as ragged as the woman's dress. When he stepped back outside, he heard Aiva speaking to the stranger. It took him only a moment to understand that his wife was trying to make conversation, and that the old woman was doing little to encourage her.

"… with your family when you came here?"

"I believe so. I was very young."

"Do you remember how old you were?"

"No."

"But you remember the village. You said so. Is it so different now? Have we changed that much?"

At that the woman looked up, gazing first at Giraan, who had paused on the top step, and then at Aiva. "No," she said. "I don't think your people have changed at all."

She swung the carry sack off her shoulders and held out a thin, roughened hand for the food.

Giraan walked to where she stood and handed it to her.

"Thank you, sir," she said, placing the bundle carefully in her sack and shouldering the burden again. She looked briefly at Aiva. "My lady. I hope you find good use for the baskets."

With that, she started off into the village. She didn't so much as glance back at them.

"I'm glad to see her go," Giraan said.

Aiva nodded absently, admiring her new baskets. "She is odd. But she does fine work."

"I suppose."

She glanced at him. "Go find Sedi. Get your animals skinned and tanned. You'll feel better."

Giraan laughed. "You're right." He started for his friend's house. "I won't be long."

He walked slowly, having no desire to catch up with the old woman. He even stopped briefly by the wash, just to sit and watch the water flow by before continuing on his way. By the time he reached Sedi's home, at the west end of Runnelwick, he felt reasonably certain that the stranger had seen to her business in the marketplace and moved on.

Sedi glanced up from his work as Giraan entered the shop. An instant later, his eyes snapped up a second time, fixing on the two animals Giraan carried.

"I don't believe it!" he said, setting aside his work and standing. "Two already? And a stoat, no less!"

"Both in need of your skills, my friend."

The tanner shook his head, a smile on his thin face. "I should have known better than to make such a bargain with you, Giraan. I've known you for more than eight fours, and you've always managed to best me in everything."

"Not everything," Giraan said. "You've always been the better fisherman, and our garden never looks as fine as yours."

Sedi nodded, conceding the point. "Almost everything, then."

"You know that I'll gladly do whatever work your wagons ever need." "Of course, and I'm happy to treat your skins."

Giraan handed him the rope on which he'd tied the animals.

"That's a good-sized beaver," Sedi said. "It should fetch a fair price when the next peddlers come through from the sovereignties."

"The sovereignties?"

"Yes. Wait for an Eandi. No matter how much a Qirsi peddler offers you, an Eandi will beat the price. Particularly if he's headed for Qosantia or Tordjanne."

Giraan knew immediately that this was sound advice. It made sense, really. Since the end of the Blood Wars, the Eandi nations bordering Qirsi lands-Stelpana and Naqbae-had remained hostile to anyone or anything having to do with the Qirsi, even outcasts like the Y'Qatt. The people of Aelea were much the same way. The wealthier nations of the lowlands, however, seemed more than happy to trade in Qirsi goods, and in fact, according to many of the peddlers who came through Runnelwick during the course of the year, they often sought out certain items from the Qirsi clans-baskets, blankets, the fine light wines of the H'Bel and the Talm'Orast. It shouldn't have surprised him that they would also covet the fine animal pelts found in the northern lands near the Companion Lakes.

"All right, then. Thanks for the advice," Giraan said.

Sedi grinned. "You sure you should trust me? We're competitors now."

Giraan had to laugh. "Hardly." He turned to leave the shop. "Thank you, my friend."

"My pleasure. I won't get to them today, and they'll need a few days to dry once I've done the work. Give me until the beginning of the waning."

"Of course." Giraan opened the door, but then paused on the threshold. After a moment he faced the tanner again. "Aiva and I had a strange encounter today. A Mettai woman along the road."

"The one peddling baskets?"

"You saw her, too."

Sedi shook his head, light from the doorway shining in his bright yellow eyes. "No. But I've heard others speaking of her. Of her baskets, to be more precise."

"What are they saying?"

The tanner shrugged. "That her baskets are the finest to be seen here in anyone's memory."

"But what about her?" Giraan demanded, his voice rising. "What are they saying about the woman?"

Sedi frowned. "I've heard nothing about her. Why?"

Giraan sighed, then took a long breath, trying to calm himself. Why, indeed? He wasn't sure himself. "Forgive me. I found the woman… odd. Disturbingly so. But I said something foolish when first I saw her, and it may just be that she didn't like me very much."

"What did you say?"

"It doesn't matter." Giraan forced a smile, embarrassed by the memory. "Forget that I mentioned it." He left Sedi's shop, intending to walk back home. Instead, not quite knowing why, he turned and walked to the marketplace, scanning the stalls, peddlers' carts, and byways for the old woman. He didn't see her, but he soon realized that her baskets were everywhere. Or rather, not everywhere, but present in numbers enough to be noticeable. Several of his fellow villagers had already purchased their own, and a number of sellers had traded for others and were peddling them along with their wares.

Wherever she was now, the old woman's purse had to be bulging with Runnelwick's gold. Giraan wasn't certain why this disturbed him so, or why he should begrudge the stranger her success. What was the old woman to him? Yes, she was strange, not to mention rude. But even he could see that her baskets were lovely. No wonder so many of his neighbors wanted them. Hadn't Aiva herself traded for two of them? After some time he shook his head and turned for home. This was too fine a day to waste brooding over a strange old Mettai witch.

Giraan and Aiva ate a modest supper of smoked fish, black bread, and steamed greens. They had their meal outside, on the steps of the house, where they could enjoy the cool evening air. Still, throughout the meal, despite his best efforts, Giraan could think of little besides his encounter with the Mettai woman. And each time he relived their conversation, the memory of it grew darker, until he began to wonder if he should burn the baskets she had given them and run through the village shouting for his neighbors and friends to do the same. He tried to laugh off his fears, but they clung stubbornly to his mind, souring his mood.

So it was that he didn't notice how quiet Aiva had been during the evening until she actually said something.