“Which way?” Corin said.
He said it at the window of Hob’s back room with the shutter open and the Sallow going past below in the grey before the sun, and she was sitting up in the bed with the field book on her knees, and she did not look up from it.
“East,” Orla said. “The Brack. Todholes wants chaining again now the Rooks have walled the yard, and Sela wants the byre drawn where Halket says it ran, and the Brack pays in mutton.” She turned a page. “Then over the pass to Dagny, if the snow’s off. Hallam wants the Crake from the ridge to the Sallow, and Hallam pays in silver.”
“The Crake.”
“The Crake.” She looked up then. “You’ll know where the hole is.”
“Four feet to the left,” he said. “I’ll show you.”
He had asked it every morning since the Wyre. At the…
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