“I don’t know what’s keeping my patrol,” he remarked after a time, opening his eyes again to stare down the lane. “It’s not like Mari to get lost in the woods.
If they don’t show soon, I’ll have to try and bury those poor dogs myself.
They’re getting pretty ripe.”
“Dogs?”
He made an apologetic gesture. “The farm dogs. Found ‘em out behind the barn yesterday. The only animals that weren’t carried off, seemingly. I think they died defending their people. Figured they ought to be buried nice, maybe up in the woods where it’s shady. Dogs ought to like that.”
Fawn bit her lip, wondering why this made her suddenly want to burst into tears when she had not cried for her own child.
He glanced down at her, his expression growing diffident. “Among Lakewalker women, a loss like yours would be a private grief, but she would not be so alone. She’d maybe have her man, closest friends, or kin around her. Instead, you’re stuck with me. If you”—he ducked his head nervously—“need to weep, be sure that I wouldn’t mistake it for any lack of strength or courage on your part.”
Fawn shook her head, lips tight and miserable. “Should I weep?”
“Don’t know. I don’t know farmer women.”
“It’s not about being a farmer.” She held out her hand, which clenched. “It’s about being stupid.”
After a moment, he said in a very neutral tone, “You use that word a lot.
Makes me wonder who used to whip you with it.”
“Lots of people. Because I was.” She lowered her gaze to her lap, where her hands now twisted the loose fabric of her gown. “It’s funny I can tell you this.
I suppose it’s because I never saw you before, or will again.” The man was carrying out her revolting blood clots, after all. Before yesterday, the very thought would have slain her with embarrassment. She remembered the fight in the cave, the bear-man… the deathly breath of the malice. What was a mere stupid story, compared to that?
His silence this time took on an easy, listening quality. Unhurried. She felt she might fill it in her own good time. Out in the fields, a few early-summer insects sang in the weeds.
In a lower voice she said, “I didn’t mean to have a child. I wanted, wanted, something else. And then I was so scared and mad.”
Seeming to feel his way as cautiously as a hunter in the woods, he said,
“Farmer customs aren’t like ours. We hear pretty lurid songs and tales about them.
Your family—did they cast you out?” He scowled; Fawn was not sure why.
She shook her head harder. “No. They’d have taken care of me and the child, if they’d been put to it. I didn’t tell them. I ran away.”
He glanced at her in surprise. “From a place of safety? I don’t understand.”
“Well, I didn’t think the road would be this dangerous. That woman from Glassforge made it, after all. It seemed like an even trade, me for her.”
He pursed his lips and stared off down the lane to ask, even more quietly,
“Were you forced?”
“No!” She blew out her breath. “I can clear Stupid Sunny of that, at least. I wanted—to tell the truth, I asked him.”
His brows went up a little, although a tension eased out of his shoulders.
“Is there a problem with this, among farmers? It seems quite the thing to me. The woman invites the man to her tent. Except I suppose you don’t have tents.”
“I could have wished for a tent. A bed. Something. It was at his sister’s wedding, and we ended up out in the field behind the barn in the dark, hiding in the new wheat, which I thought could have stood to be taller. I hoped it might be romantic and wild. Instead, it was all mosquitoes and hurry and dodging his drunken friends. It hurt, which I expected, but not unbearably. I’d just thought there would be… more to it. I got what I asked for but not what I wanted.”
He rubbed his lips thoughtfully. “What did you want?”
She took a breath, thinking. As opposed to flailing, which was maybe what she had been doing back home. “I think… I wanted to know. It—what a man and a woman do—was like some kind of wall between me and being a grown-up woman, even though I was plenty old.”
“How old is plenty old?” He cocked his head curiously at her.
“Twenty,” she said defiantly.
“Oh,” he said, and though he managed to keep the amusement out of his voice, his gold eyes glinted a bit.
She would have been annoyed, but the glint was too pretty to complain about, and then there were the crow’s-feet, which framed the glint so perfectly. She waved her hands in defeat and went on, “It was like a big secret everyone knew but me.
I was tired of being the youngest, and littlest, and always the child.” She sighed. “We were a bit drunk, too.”
She added after a morose silence, “He did say a girl couldn’t be got with child the first time.”
Dag’s eyebrows climbed higher. “And you believed this? A country girl?”
“I said I was stupid about it. I thought maybe people were different than heifers. I thought maybe Sunny knew more than me. He could hardly know less.
It’s not as if anyone talked about it. To me, I mean.” She added after a moment,
“And… I’d had such a hard time nerving myself up to it, I didn’t want to stop.”
He scratched his head. “Well, among my people, we try not to be crude in front of the young ones, but we have to instruct and be instructed. Because of the hazards of tangling our grounds. Which young couples still do. There’s nothing so embarrassing as having to be rescued from an unintended groundlock by your friends, or worse, her kin.” At Fawn’s baffled look, he added, “It’s a bit like a trance. You get wound up in each other and forget to get up, go eat, report for duty… after a couple of hours—or days—the body’s needs break you out. But that’s pretty uncomfortable. Dangerous in an unsafe place to be so unaware of your surroundings for that long, too.”
It was her turn to say, “Oh,” rather blankly. She glanced up at him. “Did you ever… ?”
“Once. When I was very young.” His lips twitched. “Around twenty. It’s not something most people let happen twice. We look out for each other, try not to let the first learning kill anyone.”
A couple of days? I think I had a couple of minutes… She shook her head, not sure if she believed this tale. Or understood it, for that matter. “Well, that—what Sunny said then—wasn’t what made me so mad. Maybe he didn’t know either. Even getting with child didn’t make me mad, just scared. So I went to Sunny, because I reckoned he had a right to know. Besides, I thought he liked me, or maybe even loved me.”
Dag started to say something, but then at her last statement stopped himself, looking taken aback, and just waved her to continue. “This has to have happened to other farmer women. What do your folk usually do?”
Fawn shrugged. “Usually, people get married. In kind of a hurry. Her folks and his folks get together and put a good face on it, and things just go on. I mean, if no one is married already. If he’s already married, or if she is, I guess things get uglier. But I didn’t think… I mean, I had nerved myself up for the one, I figured I could nerve myself up for the other. “But when I told Sunny… it wasn’t what I’d expected. I didn’t necessarily think he’d be delighted, but I did expect him to follow through. After all, I had to.
But”—she took a deeper breath—“it seems he had other arrangements. His parents had made him a betrothal with the daughter of a man whose land bordered theirs.
Did I say Sunny’s folks have a big place? And he’s the only son, and she was the only child, and it had been understood for years. And I said, why didn’t he tell me earlier, and he said, everyone knew and why should he have, if I was giving myself away for free, and I said, that’s fine but there’s this baby now, and it was all going to have to come out, and both our parents would make us stand up together anyhow, and he said, no, his wouldn’t, I was portionless, and he would get three of his friends to say they’d had me that night too, and he’d get out of it.” She finished this last in a rush, her face hot. She stole a glance at Dag, who was sitting looking down the lane with a curiously blank face but with his teeth pressed into his lower lip. “And at that point, I decided I didn’t care if I was pregnant with twins, I wouldn’t have Stupid Sunny for my husband on a bet.” She jerked up her chin in defiance.