The path to Reedbank had learned their footsteps in the last week and had stopped trying to trip them. The marsh smell lifted up and pulled thyme and river-sweet through it until even the midges seemed to hum in a kinder key. Arielle walked beside the cart because she could think better when her hands were busy. She added one more rule to the little paper she was writing for new boards: Put the trick-board where the grandmothers wait, because then it will always have eyes on it.
Reedbank had been prickly at the weigh-day. It greeted them now with a wary courtesy, which Arielle took as a higher compliment. The men who had shouted were the first to bring out their sealed sacks to be swapped. The women who had watched with crossed arms brought jam and questions and a dozen pencils made out of river willow char.
