“Were you born here, or there?”

“Here. Very late in the season. We should have been gone to winter camp, but my arrival made delays. The first of my many offenses.” His smile at this was faint.

Flat land and thin woods gave little to view at first as the road wound inward, although around a curve Copperhead snorted and pretended to shy as a flock of a dozen or so wild turkeys crossed in front of them. The turkeys returned apparent disdain and wandered away into the undergrowth. Around the next curve Dag twitched his horse aside into the verge, and Fawn paused with him, as a caravan passed. A gray-headed man rode ahead; following him, on no lead, were a dozen horses loaded with heavy basket panniers piled high with dark, round, lumpy objects covered in turn with crude rope nets to keep the loads from tumbling out. A boy brought up the rear.

Fawn stared. “I don’t suppose that’s a load of severed heads going somewhere, but it sure looks like it at a distance. No wonder folks think you’re cannibals.”

Dag laughed, turning to look after the retreating string. “You know, you’re right! That, my love, is a load of plunkins, on their way to winter store. This is their season. In late summer, it is every Lakewalker’s duty to eat up his or her share of fresh plunkins. You are going to learn all about plunkins.”

From his tone Fawn wasn’t sure if that was a threat or a promise, but she liked the wry grin that went along-with. “I hope to learn all about everything.”

He gave her a warmly encouraging nod and led off once more. Fawn wondered when she was going to at last see tents, and especially Dag’s tent.

A shimmering light through the screen of trees, mostly hickory, marked the shoreline to the right. Fawn stood up in her stirrups, trying for a glimpse of the water. She said in surprise, “Cabins!”

“Tents,” Dag corrected.

“Cabins with awnings.” She gazed avidly as the road swung nearer.