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appleton trees. Dragons looked comfortable sitting; the warhorse looked awkward. He had his head turned away from the humans as if he deliberately shunned the activity on the porch since it didn’t include him. The cat Jesha rested, curled comfortably beside the tree. Bridger, with his head tilted up, watched the flower-laden branches of the trees.
    The awkward situation bothered Cantor. Should he claim the horse? Ask for feed? Reveal to the family that Bridger was a dragon? This was Effram. Surely there was some protocol for dealing with new acquaintances when one was a dragon and the other human. But Bridger held the form of the horse. Did he not want to be recognized as a mor dragon? If so, what was his purpose?
    The door swung open again. Three young women and the mother streamed out, chattering and giggling. They carried more food and set their dishes in a row down the center of the table. At the same time, a group of men rounded the corner of the house. Their heavy boots thudded on the wooden steps as they joined the people on the porch. The younger family members rushed to their seats and stood at attention behind a chair or bench.
    Tifra motioned Cantor to a seat next to hers. She smiledat him as he came to stand beside her and nodded toward the man at the head of the table.
    “My father,” she whispered.
    Tifra indicated another man. “My grandfather.” As the older man began a prayer to Primen, she dutifully lowered her gaze to her folded hands.
    The porch erupted with noise two seconds after the patriarch of the family said, “Amen.”
    Chairs and benches scraped across the floor. Voices that had respectfully remained silent bubbled up in chatter. Cantor sat next to Tifra and became part of the passing of large bowls and platters of food.
    “Welcome to our table, young traveler,” called Mr. Means from his end of the table.
    Evidently bad manners did not include shouting. “Thank you for having me, sir,” Cantor yelled back.
    “I am Tifra’s mother,” said the lady across from him. “Our family receives you and the blessing you bring to us through your presence.”
    Cantor pondered for a moment what words of greeting would be appropriate.
    “You are gracious in your hospitality.”
    Two boys snorted their laughter. Apparently, Cantor had not chosen well. He’d try again.
    “I appreciate the hands that have brought this bounty from field and pasture to your kitchen and to the table.”
    The same two boys bent toward each other and snickered. Cantor wished they’d just give him the line instead of enjoying his embarrassment. Tifra pinched the one sitting next to her, and a sister on the other side of the boys pinched the one beside her.
    The mischievous boys sat up straight, but their shoulders shook from suppressed laughter, their faces burnt red, and their mouths twisted in a thin-line, twitching grimace.
    The heavy dishes still moved around the table, handed from one person to the next. Cantor’s plate overflowed, and he passed the next plate without spooning out a serving. Though he hadn’t tasted anything, he swallowed, trying to dislodge his chagrin at not being able to come up with a courteous reply.
    “Didn’t I say I would be useful?” Bridger’s voice whispered through Cantor’s mind.
    He sat up straighter and leaned slightly so he could see around Goodwife Means to the warhorse under the tree. Bridger remained in the same position. Again his voice interrupted Cantor’s thoughts.
    “Say to the goodwife , ‘Primen blesses us all. I thank you for sharing the blessing. Primen multiplies this good thing.’ ”
    Cantor repeated the three sentences.
    Goodwife Means relaxed, a warm smile came over her face, and she and Tifra sighed in unison.
    The goodwife dipped her head, acknowledging his words, and said, “All good things come from Primen.”
    “You’re out of the mire now,” said Bridger with a chuckle.
    “Can you hear me?” asked Cantor without speaking.
    “Yes , I can hear