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grandma’am won’t be worrying. And if it starts to mist more, you need to put the cloak back on.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    As Royalt guided the wagon onto the westbound road out of the square, Alucius could see the two boys returning to the knife-smith’s cart.
    â€œWhy do people think we’re different?” Alucius asked.
    â€œYou saw that, didn’t you?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Royalt sighed. “Herders are different. You know when the horses have had enough to drink, don’t you? Or when a nightsheep is hurt? Sometimes, even when people are hurt inside?”
    â€œSometimes,” Alucius admitted cautiously.
    â€œMost people can’t do that. To be a herder you have to have some Talent. Not much, but some—I’ve told you that—and most people don’t have even that much Talent. People are afraid of the Talent. Some of them even think that Talent was what caused the dark days.”
    â€œIt didn’t, did it?” asked Alucius.
    â€œIt doesn’t matter whether it did or didn’t, boy. What matters is how people feel. If they think the Talent caused the Cataclysm, then they’re going to be afraid of people with Talent, and nothing we say is going to change things. That’s why some people don’t care much for herders. Something you have to get used to, if you want to be a herder.”
    â€œIs that why herders wear the wristguard?”
    Royalt laughed. “No, boy. We know we’re different. You can tell a herder, young as you are. It’s a symbol, in a way, something to remind us who we are.”
    Royalt eased the wagon to the right edge of the road as a rider neared, coming from the west. The man tipped his battered felt hat to Royalt. The herder returned the gesture.
    Alucius nodded to the rider, as well, even as he still wondered why people would want to believe things that weren’t true.

7
    The full moon that was Selena cast a pale pearly glow across the stead, softening the hard edges of the fences, the main dwelling, the maintenance barn, and the sheds that held the nightsheep. Not even the cicadas or the distant howl of a sandwolf disturbed the silence.
    The dark-haired woman sat on the porch, slightly crosswise on the wooden chair she had carried out from the kitchen. She cradled the four-string gitar and looked out into the patterns of moonlight and darkness. After a time, she began to sing, softly.
    â€œDon’t be lookin’ for soarers free,
    dear, with anyone else but me…”
    In the loft above, Alucius listened through his window, a window open to catch the light night breeze. He liked to hear his mother sing. She often sang that song, softly, late at night, when everyone else in the stead was sleeping. Or supposed to be sleeping.
    â€œDon’t be seeking the distant sea
    dear, with anyone else but me…”
    His mother never sang when Asterta was in the night sky, and Alucius wondered if that were because the green-tinged Asterta had once been considered the horse goddess—the one who offered both death and glory to the horse warriors.
    â€œDon’t be off’ring the homestead key
    dear, to anyone else but me…”
    At the gathers and the fests, there was always someone asking his mother to sing and play. Alucius was always amazed at how many songs she knew—from the upbeat and cheerful ones to some so mournful that even the eyes of the hard-edged Militia riders brightened.
    â€œDon’t sit under the loving tree,
    dear, with anyone else but me…
    with anyone else but me…”
    As the words from the porch below faded, Alucius lay back on his pallet bed, recalling that, of all the songs she knew, he had never heard her sing that song at the fests or when the growers got together after harvest. She only sang it at night and when she was alone.

8
    A yellow-red arrow knifed through Alucius, searing through his stomach, and then running in a line both