“I have something to show you. In the stable, so find your shoes.”

“All right,” she said agreeably, and rose.

Her bare feet thumped away up the hallway, and he called after her, “Slow down!”

He did not consider himself a wit, but this fetched her usual floating laugh.

In her natural state, did she ever travel at any pace other than a scamper?

He studied Saun, wondering if any warning-off might be in order here. That the broad-shouldered youth was attractive to women, he’d had occasion to note, if never before with concern. But in Saun’s current bashed state, he was no menace to curious farmer girls, Dag decided. And cautions might draw counterquestions Dag was ill equipped to answer, such as, What business is it of yours? He settled on a friendly wave farewell and started to withdraw into the hall again.

“Oh, Dag?” called Saun. “Old patroller?” He grinned from his propping pillows.

“Yes?” Blight it, when had the boy picked up on that catchphrase? Saun must have paid closer attention to Dag’s occasional mutters than he would have guessed.

“No need for the fishy glower. All your pet Spark wants to hear are Dag tales.”

He settled back with a snicker, no, a snigger.

Dag shook his head and retreated. At least he managed to stop wincing before he exited the stairs. Dag arrived in the stable, its stalls crowded with the horses of the two patrols, barely before Fawn did. He led her to the straight stall housing the placid bay mare, and pointed.

“Congratulations, Spark. Mari’s made it official. You now own this nice horse.

Your share of our pay from the Glassforge town fathers. I found you that saddle and bridle on the peg, too; should be about the right size for you. Not new, but they’re in real good condition.” He saw no need to mention that the tack had been part of a private deal with the willing harnessmaker who had done such a fine job repairing his arm-harness.

Fawn’s face lit with delight, and she slid into the stall to run her hands over the horse’s neck and scratch her star and her ears, which made the mare round her nostrils and drop her poll in pleasure. “Oh, Dag, she’s wonderful, but”—Fawn’s nose wrinkled in suspicion—“are you sure this isn’t your share of the pay? I mean, Mari’s been nice to me and all, but I didn’t think she’d promoted me to patroller.”

A little too shrewd, that. “If it had been left to me, there would be a lot more, Spark.”

Fawn did not look entirely convinced, but the horse nudged her for more scratches, and she turned back to the task. “She needs a name. She can’t go on being that mare.” Fawn bit her lip in thought. “I’ll name her Grace, after the river. Because it’s a pretty name and she’s a pretty horse, and because she carried us so smoothly. Do you want to be Grace, sweet lady, hm?” She carried on with the petting and making-much; the mare signified her acceptance of the affection, the name, or both by cocking her hips, easing one hind hoof, and blowing out her breath, which made Fawn laugh. Dag leaned on the stall partition and smiled.

At length, Fawn’s face sobered in some new thought. She wandered back out of the stall and stood with her arms folded a moment. “Except… I’m not sure if I’ll be able to keep her on a milkmaid’s pay, or whatever.”

“She’s yours absolutely; you could sell her,” Dag said neutrally.

Fawn shook her head, but her expression did not lighten.

“In any case,” Dag continued, “it’s too early for you to be thinking of taking on work. You’re going to need this mare to ride, first.”

“I’m feeling much better. The bleeding stopped two days ago, if I were going to get a fever I think I would have by now, and I don’t get dizzy anymore.”

“Yes, but… Mari has given me leave to take the sharing knife back to camp and have it looked at by a maker. I know the best. I was thinking, since Lumpton Market and West Blue are more or less on the way to Hickory Lake from here, we ought to stop in at your farm on the way and put your folks out of their cruel suspense.”

Her eyes flashed up at him with an unreadable look. “I don’t want to go back.”

Her voice wavered. “I don’t want my whole stupid story to come out.” And firmed:

“I don’t want to be within a hundred miles of Stupid Sunny.”

Dag took a breath. “You don’t have to stay. Well, you can’t stay; your testimony will be needed on the matter of the knife. Once that’s done, the choice of where to go next is yours.”

She sucked on her lower lip, eyes downcast. “They’ll try to make me stay. I know them. They won’t believe I can be a grown…” Her voice grew more urgent. “Only if you promise to go with me, promise not to leave me there!”

His hand found its way to her shoulder in attempted reassurance of this odd distress. “And yet I might with your goodwill leave you here?”

“Mm…”

“Just trying to figure out if it’s the here or the there or the me leaving that’s being objected to.”

Her eyes were wide and dark, and her moist lips parted as her face rose at these words. Dag felt his head dipping, his spine bending, as his hand slipped around her back, as if he were falling from some great height, falling soft…

A throat cleared dryly behind him, and he straightened abruptly.

“There you are,” said Mari. “Thought I might find you here.” Her voice was cordial but her eyes were narrowed.

“Oh, Mari!” said Fawn, a bit breathlessly. “Thank you for getting me this nice horse. I wasn’t expecting it.” She made her little knee-dip.

Mari smiled at her, managing to give Dag an ironic eyebrow-cock at the same time. “You’ve earned much more, but it was what I could do. I am not entirely without a sense of obligation.”

This crushed conversation briefly. Mari continued blandly, “Fawn, would you excuse us for a while? I have some patrol business to discuss with Dag, here.”

“Oh. Of course.” Fawn brightened. “I’ll go tell Saun about Grace.” And she was off again at a scamper, flashing a grin over her shoulder at Dag.

Mari leaned against the end post of the stall and crossed her arms, staring up at Dag, till Fawn had vanished through the stable door and out of ear shot.

The aisle was cool and shady compared to the white afternoon outside, redolent with horses, quiet but for the occasional champing and shifting of the heat-lazy animals and the faint humming of the flies. Dag raised his chin and clasped his hand and hand replacement behind his back, winding his thumb around the hook-with-spring-clamp presently seated in the wooden cuff, and waited. Not hopefully.

It wasn’t long in coming. “What are you about, boy?” Mari growled.

Any sort of response that came to, Whatever do you mean, Mari? seemed a waste of time and breath. Dag lowered his eyelids and waited some more.

“Do I need to list everything that’s wrong with this infatuation?” she said, exasperation plain in her voice. “I daresay you could give the blighted lecture yourself. I daresay you have.”

“A time or two,” he granted.

“So what are you thinking? Or are you thinking?”

He inhaled. “I know you want to tell me to back away from Fawn, but I can’t.

Not yet anyway. The knife binds us, till I get it up to camp. We’re going to have to travel together for a time yet; you can’t argue with that.”

“It’s not the traveling that worries me. It’s what’s going to happen when you stop.”

“I’m not sleeping with her.”

“Aye, yet. You’ve had your groundsense locked down tight in my presence ever since you got in. Well, that’s partly just you—it’s such a habit with you, you stay veiled in your sleep. But this—you’re like a cat who thinks it’s hiding because it’s got its head stuck in a sack.”

“Ah, mental privacy. Now, there’s a farmer concept that could stand to catch on.”

She snorted. “Fine chance.”

“I’m taking her up to camp,” Dag said mulishly. “That’s a given.”