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just as
Catrin entered the barn.
    "Don't let those fools bother you, li'l miss.
They haven't got the sense the gods gave 'em," he said, hefting his
pitchfork in mock combat. On his way back to the stall he'd been
cleaning, he stopped and patted Catrin on the shoulder with his
over-large, calloused hand. His simple act of kindness shattered
Catrin's fragile composure, and with each step, more tears flowed
down her cheeks. Sobs wracked her, and she stood before her father,
trembling, her shoulders hunched forward. She could not bring
herself to look him in the eye, and she stared at the ground
instead.
    Her father never let the tribulations of the
day disturb his routine, which gave Catrin comfort. He brought
Charger, his roan mare, from her stall and put her on cross-ties.
He ran a currycomb over her muddy coat with one hand and smoothed
the freshly brushed coat with his other. Charger was accustomed to
his ministrations and promptly fell asleep, letting the cross-ties
hold up her head.
    "What happened in the woods yesterday?" her
father asked without looking up from his task.
    "Peten was angry at Chase and Osbourne for
playing a trick on him, and the townies attacked Osbourne on his
way home. I tried to protect him, and they attacked me. I thought I
was going to die, but right before Peten hit me, the world
exploded. It's hard to explain; it was so strange and so very
horrible," she said, and she tried to continue, but her sobs would
not be suppressed.
    She hugged herself in an effort to maintain
control while her father deftly unhooked the cross-ties and
returned Charger to her stall. After closing the stall gate, he
went to Catrin and awkwardly put his arms around her. It was a rare
gesture, which neither of them was truly comfortable with, but it
meant a lot to her nonetheless.
    "You certainly have your mother's knack for
turning the world on its side, my little Cat. It'd be easier if she
were here; I'm sure she would know what to do, but we'll get
through this together, you and I. Don't you worry yourself sick.
It's not so bad as it seems," he said with a forced laugh as he
tousled her hair. "Now you run along and take the rest of the day
for yourself. You've more than earned it with all of the hard work
and long days you put in this winter," he continued. Catrin tried
to argue, but he insisted. "Benjin and I can handle things around
here."
    "Off you go now, li'l miss. Maybe you could
catch us some nice bass for dinner, eh?" Benjin said with a wink,
and her father shot him a good-natured scowl.
    "I give my daughter the day off, and you want
her to catch your dinner?" Wendel said, shaking his head.
    Laughter released some of Catrin's anxiety,
and she left to fetch the laundry she had abandoned by the river.
After she finished the washing, she took it to the cottage to hang
it up to dry. When she was done, she took a piece of waxed cheese,
some dried fruit, and a few strips of smoked beef for her
breakfast. On her way back out of the cottage, she grabbed her bow,
two fishing arrows, and her fishing pole. There was more than one
way to catch a fish, and she was determined to bring back
dinner.
    Following the path back down to the
riverbank, she turned north onto the trail that ran alongside the
river, feeling as if every step took her farther from society and
away from the source of her fears. She climbed past the shoals and
falls, where the path was often steep and rocky. Along the way, she
turned over rocks and collected the bloodworms that had been hiding
in the darkness. By the time she reached the lake at the top of the
falls, she had an ample supply of bait. Along the shores the water
was shallow and slow, and the fishing was generally quite good.
When she reached one of her favorite places, she laid out her
gear.
    Dark red blood oozed over her delicate
fingers as she slid a bloodworm onto her hook, and she wiped it on
her jacket, adding yet another stain. Her fishing line was far too
coarse for her liking, but good