For Selwyn Rosen, the morning of the attack on him by the villagers started the road that ended the night before: he and his father were removing stumps from the piece of land they wanted to plant as an extra field next spring. "Because even if you don't marry Anora after all," his father said, "one day you'll get married, and you'll need extra land." ”

Selwyn was inclined to think that his father hoped that pulling and chopping the stubborn stump would be enough to drive Anola out of Selwyn's mind - it just showed how simple parents could be in certain things.

"Besides," his father told him, "the skinny small-town girl is not fit for farm life." You need to find yourself a big, sturdy woman. ”

"Big?" Selwyn repeated, almost out of breath, as he swung his axe and slashed at one of the roots, sawdust splashing onto his clothes and hair. "Sturdy?" He himself is short in stature — and, at the age of 17, unlikely to grow taller or wider. The last thing he wanted was a wife who was bigger and stronger than him. "Are we talking about a wife or a pair of cows?"

"Well," said his father, as if considering the matter, "of course, that will be your choice." Cattle are very good at removing tree stumps. On the other hand, their after-dinner conversation is mediocre at best, and they don't dance at all. Perhaps, you can find a big, but not too big girl. ”

Selwyn smiled, but mostly relieved that the axe blade had finally split the roots.

He put down his axe and picked up the shovel.

It was an unusually warm day, and Selwyn's shirt was soggy against his back when the leaves of autumn had fallen but the winter snow hadn't yet fallen. He stopped, straightened up, rested for a moment, and blew off the hair that covered his eyes.

Just then, he saw the villagers approaching.

"Father," he said, not mistaking for a moment their intention for helping to dig up the stump, for there were several canes or clubs, and all of them looked cold.

The last smile on his father's face was gone, but his voice was pleasant, and he shouted at the approaching dozen or fifteen people. "What's wrong? What's wrong? Tell me we're not at war again. ”

It was a reasonable inquiry, for—of all these men—only Selwyn's father went to the king's army, which is why he was married so late that he was almost fifty years old, and had a son of seventeen. The villagers had previously turned to him for help with soldiers crossing the border, or attacking bandits on the road to Santa Hilda, or – at one point – two feuding wizards nearly razing Orrick's tavern in an attempt to resolve their differences.

But his father didn't think that was the case; Selwyn could make out the lightness in his voice was reluctant.

When Thorne, who was in the lead, replied, all lingering doubts vanished, "Put down the shovel, Rowe." ”

Whatever they were here, it was a strange thing to say it, and despite Thorne being their neighbor and having been farming the land closest to them longer than Selwyn had been alive, Selwyn felt a pang of fear in his stomach.

His father, who had no reason to hold his shovel until then, looked approvingly at Thorne and the oncoming crowd. He shoveled the shovel into a pile of dirt that he and Selwyn had dug up around the base of the nearest stump, and placed his arm on the handle, which was still within reach.

The villagers stopped five or six paces away. The distance of a shovel.

"Come here, child," said Linton, the miller's nephew, though Selwyn did not yet know what it meant.

"Stay," Serwyn's father ordered, as if Selwyn had lost consciousness completely.

"We just want to talk to him," Thorne said.

"Okay. Say," said Selwyn's father. "He's very good hearing."

Thorne met his gaze for a long time. Then he said, "Farod is dead. Murdered in the mill last night. ”

Farrow was another nephew of Derian Miller and Linton's cousin. Selwyn was shocked that someone had been murdered in their quiet neighborhood, but was not upset that it was Farrow. Relieved, in fact, it was Farod and no one else. Gladly, if truth be told, if it had to happen to someone, it would happen to Farrow. But he knew he couldn't let something like this show up in his face. He tried to think only of good ideas. Farrow wasn't that bad, exactly, he told himself. Farod is better than ...... Well, he's better than sitting on a tack, and he's better than breaking a tooth on a peach pit.

His father asked, "Why do you think Selwyn did it?" ”

So many good ideas. Although, in fact, that's the only reason they're here, look what they look like. How could they think he would kill someone – even the obnoxious, megalomaniacal Farod? But Thorne was staring at him, finally confronting him instead of his father, and asking him, "Really?" ”