The two men seemed to be arguing, in voices too hushed and rumbling for her to make out the words, except a reiterated, “Master want!” in rising, urgent tones from the simpleton, and a sharp, aggravated “Why?” from the other. She lowered her face and walked faster. The hoofbeats started again, but instead of fading into the distance, grew louder.

The animal loomed alongside. “Morning,” the younger man called down in a would-be cheerful tone. Fawn glanced up. He tugged his dirty blond hair at her politely, but his smile did not reach his eyes. The simpleton just stared tensely at her.

Fawn combined a civil nod with a repelling frown, starting to think, Please, let there be a cart. Cows. Other riders, anything, I don’t care which direction.

“Going to Glassforge?” he inquired.

“I’m expected,” Fawn returned shortly. Go away. Just turn around and go away.

“Family there?”

“Yes.” She considered inventing some large Glassforge brothers and uncles, or just relocating the real ones. The plague of her life, she almost wished for them now.

The simpleton thumped his friend on the shoulder, scowling. “No talk. Just take.” His voice came out smeared, as though his mouth was the wrong shape inside.

A manure wagon would he just lovely. One with a lot of people on board, preferably.

“You do it, then,” snapped the young man.

The simpleton shrugged, braced his hands, and slid himself off right over the horse’s rump. He landed more neatly than Fawn would have expected. She lengthened her stride; then, as he came around the horse toward her, she broke into a dead run, looking around frantically.

The trees were no help. Anything she could climb, he could too. To get out of sight long enough to hide in the woods, she had to outpace her pursuer by an impossible margin. Might she stay ahead until a miracle occurred, such as someone riding around that long curve up ahead?