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said, in a strange tone. ‘She knows it must be.’
    That only made it worse, to my mind. Together we went out and led the creature into the yard between the barn and the house. Her head was held in a halter, which Wynn had decorated with leaves and berries, all red to match the cow’s rich hide. But she had tucked yellow furze flowers in amongst them, to add a note of cheer. My whole body was full of sentiment, rising into my throat like thick wads of fleece, making it hard to breathe. Behind my nose and eyes tears were stinging and pressing. Edd tied the halter to a post, and stared into the animal’s eyes. She looked back at him, calmly chewing her cud.
    â€˜She isn’t ready,’ I protested to Cuthman. ‘She has no notion of what is to happen.’
    â€˜The two are the same,’ he said, obscurely. ‘She has no fear of dying. So she’s
always
ready.’
    â€˜But –’ It was too deep for me. The cow represented wealth beyond any we had yet known. We would gorge on her meat for days, and salt away enough for many weeks, and still have a great amount for bartering. Her skin would give us good leather. The dogs would grow fat on her tripes.
    â€˜Do it quick, Da,’ pleaded Wynn, who stood beside her charge’s head, tears flowing down her face, her nose disgusting. The cow glanced sideways at her, and stopped chewing. Something of the atmosphere was at last affecting her.
    â€˜Hold her, then,’ said Edd. Both the children crowded closer; nothing held the huge beast but the halter strap and her own meek obedience. Edd sliced the knife, as deep and hard as he could across her soft throat, sweeping it sideways to catch her great blood vessel, which we had all watched pulsing as we smoothed and babied her over the years. She gurgled and choked, her eyes bulging wild and horrified. She stood for a long moment, trying to cry out but unable to catch the air for it. She died slowly, sinking onto her knees, bleeding in great spurts into the bowl I held to her neck, but choking to death before she lost her life blood.
    Finally it was over, and she lay on her side, empty and still. Wynn sobbed, quietly, and the rest of us wiped away the wet from our faces. Even Cuthman was sniffing and shocked. But there was great work yet to do. The blood put away for the black pudding I would make; the butchering which would take Edd until nightfall and beyond.
    We kept her heart back. The next morning we buried it, with some prayers and songs of thanks to the cow for the gift of her life. We never had a calf again, although Edd often spoke of doing so. Wynn said she heard her heifer outside, calling her, for months afterwards. But she ate the meat with relish, and never once even hinted that she would have had it otherwise. It was the way of things, and it disturbed me now and then that my children so utterly understood the need for death so that we might live.

Chapter Four
    Other large happenings come to mind from those early years on the Moor. Edd had two brothers in the village, and two more had moved away when they grew to manhood. Wilf, the eldest of the family, had five sons and acted his part as a man of substance with loud talk and a ready fist. I had avoided him from my girlhood and saw no reason to change on my infrequent visits to the settlement. When with him, Edd seemed to shrink and become a frightened young lad.
    The other was as different as could be. Bran had an uncommon soul, full of music and dreams. When the mood was on him, he would gather all the people to a great storytelling, which continued a whole night and into the next day.
    Spenna came across the river and over the rising hillside one day between Lammas and Samhain, to tell us that Bran would speak the next night, and it would be a treat for the little ones if we would go and hear him. So we penned up the sheep, threw extra meat to the dogs and set out for the village. Cuthie would have been between his