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feeding chickens, goats, and sheep. Ilyenna barely noticed them, all her concentration was on getting away from the graveyard. What if she’d brought the attention of the dead on her whole village?
    She jumped when someone called out to her. Lanna, a steaming pail of goat’s milk in her hand, trotted toward her. This was the beautiful clan woman Ilyenna’s brother had taken a fancy to a few months back. But long before her brother had come along and the clan-mistress duties had taken all her free time, Lanna had been Ilyenna’s best friend. With pale features, a curvy build, and blond hair as thick as an arm, she fit in everywhere Ilyenna stood out.
    Lanna visibly braced herself. “How’s Bratton?”
    Trying to banish the image of the shadows crawling up her arms, Ilyenna took a deep breath. “He’s much better. His fever is broken.”
    Lanna smiled, revealing slightly crooked teeth. “I’m so glad.” Her face fell when she glanced back at her house. “Where are you off to?”
    “Volna Plesti’s to buy some wool,” Ilyenna answered.
    “Mind if I come? I’m not sure I can bear going back. We’ve four sick Argon babies. All they do is cry.”
    Ilyenna tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She’d visited those babies yesterday. They’d been exposed to too much cold. Two were very young and very ill, and they refused to eat. She doubted either of them would live. If a Tyran had been present at the moment, she’d have gladly taken her knife to his tender parts.
    Instead, she forced a smile. “I could use the help.”
    She waited as Lanna hurried to find another sack for the wool and they set off. As they walked, the sun crept down the mountain slopes into the valley. It wasn’t long before the snow softened enough to soak Ilyenna’s shoes. She took her coat off, wondering if the winter fairies had finally decided to withdraw. With the warm sun on her face, she could almost forget the Argon refugees crowding Shyleholm and emptying their foodstores, almost forget her worry over Father, Bratton, and the shadows in the graveyard. Almost.
    They reached Volna’s by midmorning. She opened the door and nodded when she saw them. The old woman’s face was as wrinkled as a winter apple. “You’ll be looking for my wool skeins,” she said.
    Ilyenna and Lanna shared a surprised look.
    Volna shrugged. “Why else would our clan mistress walk all the way to the mouth of the canyon?” She moved aside and they stepped into the room. Volna tipped her head toward a woman and three small children braiding rags into rugs at the table. “This is Hinley and hers.”
    They nodded to the Argon woman, who nodded back. Then Ilyenna and Lanna followed Volna into her storerooms. From floor to ceiling, the shelves spilled with colors, everything from skeins of yarn to felt and raw wool. Volna nodded toward their sacks. “I suppose you’ll want to fill them.”
    With a nod, Ilyenna held out a small bag of silver.
    The old woman held up her hand. “Old women like to feel wanted. You can pay me after you’re sure you can afford to feed all the Argons.”
    Ilyenna hesitated, the bag dangling between them. “But how will you buy dyes at the spring feast?”
    Volna smiled. “Wool’s just as warm in cream as it is indigo. We’ll make do.”
    A weight lifted from Ilyenna’s shoulders. “Thank you, Volna.”
    “Take some of the brighter colors, Lanna, ” the old woman said. “The Argons could use some cheering up.”
    With that, she left Lanna and Ilyenna to make their selections. Once their bags were stuffed to overflowing, they said goodbye and started down the road. They chatted softly at first, but a sense of alertness soon grew inside Ilyenna. Even the birds had gone silent. She found herself watching the woods and feeling like they watched back.
    Finally, she stopped. “Something’s wrong.”
    Lanna pressed her lips together, a worry line between her eyebrows. “I feel it too.”
    That’s when Ilyenna noticed a