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another tree to think. Darkness and the blanket of snow lent a stillness to the woods that Klast found comforting.
    While he pondered his next move, he found a small rock, and with three sharp blows severed the chain that hobbled his stride. The snow could prove a problem. His tracks would be easy to follow. Klast’s only hope lay in finding a settlement. The presence of other people could be the only deterrent either man might heed. He tried to imagine what would happen when he did find others. Each scenario grew more terrifying than the previous one. It had been so long since he had been among ordinary folk. He was no longer a small boy. And he was wearing leg chains. Would they believe him, if he told the truth? Even if they believed him, would they want a wild youth with no apparent skills around? Or would they chase him out to fend for himself, alone in the cold? With each new thought Klast’s fear grew.
    The first rosy hint of dawn had begun to light the eastern horizon when Klast spotted a grey plume of smoke. Klast’s stomach growled. People meant food … but people also meant danger.
    A cock crowed its wake-up call. Klast chose a shed at the outer edge that looked like it might be a smokehouse and made a dash for it. As soon as he slipped inside, he knew he had made a grave mistake. The shed also served as a winter storeroom for root vegetables, cheeses, milk, and hung meats. He had no sooner tucked himself into the darkest corner when he heard the voices of a woman and a man approaching. He could hear the last of the conversation clearly.
    “ Saevin, I hev some good sausages left to trade. You may hev those, and a quarter o’ the old cheese fer the eggs and that big sack o’ flour yer da’ sent.” The door opened and light limned the two in the entrance. Klast froze. His corner no longer hid him.
    As soon as she spotted him the woman shouted, “Thief!” and made to grab him. Klast ducked away under her arm, but the young man with her still stood in the doorway and nabbed him before she could turn around. Klast struggled in vain. Saevin was twice his size and strong as an ox. Klast deflated and lowered his eyes in submission.
    “ What will we do with ’im, Missus?” Saevin asked.
    Missus Larn poked him in the ribs, eyed him thoughtfully a moment and said, “Boy, ye hev not taken anything, hev ye?”
    Klast shook his head, doing his best to look helpless and forlorn.
    Missus Larn turned to Saevin. “Take ’im into the house. He looks near starved. I will feed ’im some while I think on what to do. Dinna let ’im get away, mind.”
    Missus Larn looked a woman in late-middle years, heavy set, with a round face and an underchin that jiggled as she spoke. Under heavy eyebrows her pale blue eyes sparked with keen intelligence, and her lips pursed as though whistling silently as she worked. She moved with the efficiency of long practice. A few wisps escaped the severe knot at the nape of her neck. She absently brushed them away with the back of her hand as she worked. Now she bustled about as though fussing for company. She placed a bowl of thick, hot porridge and a wooden spoon in front of Klast and bade him eat. Then she cut a generous slice from a round of cheese, placing it and a clay mug of hot cider beside the porridge.
    The heat from the stove after the bitter cold he had endured all night, the failure of his bid for freedom, the food and drink and, most of all, the rough kindness of the matron was too much for Klast. His shoulders started shaking, and soon his whole body wracked with bitter tears. Even his gnawing hunger was no match for his misery.
    Missus Larn shook her head slowly, studying Klast.
    One of his boots had come off in the skirmish, and her gaze fell on his bare ankle. Klast heard her gasp at the manacle still there. Finally, she murmured, “Eat, boy. Ye can tell us who ye be after. Ye look ill used. There be a story here, I warrant. But it can wait ’til yer fed.” She seemed to