“They’ll not take it well-ourpeople or the highlanders-to hear you say ‘omen’! Keep everyone busy asyou can. The other women and I will bring midday food to you. Why”-she laughedsoftly-“we’ll make a picnic of it, and then a holiday tonight, especially ifyoung Lhors and his father bring us game. Offer your reapers a proper harvestfest, dancing and music and a feast, good barley and beet soup with honeyed flat bread Filling stuff, even if there isn’t venison. A chance for theyoung men of the highlands to properly meet our girls.”

“And the other way about.” Yerik smiled. His young wife hadcome from High Haven at just such a small harvestfest. He patted his mother’scheek. “What will we do,” he murmured, “when you finally leave this world for abetter?”

She clasped his hand. “I do nothing special. I’m simply awoman with long years and a good memory. The village does as much for me as I do for the village-just as we keep an old warrior like Lharis happy by making himhuntsman for all of us and letting him teach his skills to our boys. I can still cook, and I can see patterns that repeat over time.”

“You make it sound so… so ordinary,” he protested.

“It is ordinary, thank all the gods at once,” she assuredhim. “Certain things occur, now and again-like a too-wet planting season.” Shereleased his hand. “Get everyone out there. We’ll bring black bread, apples, andale at midday.” Her gaze moved beyond him toward the sunrise, and she lookedbriefly troubled. Before her son could question her though, she shook off the mood and shooed him away.

Yerik straightened his tunic, settled the thick belt around his middle, then strode off into the midst of the village, rapping on one door and then another before he vanished into the stable to waken their visitors.

Gran watched him go, nodding approvingly. The harvest would be in and safely dry before the storm hit. Nothing else mattered, except keeping the morale of both villages high.