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seemed fairly natural to him that mealtimes were a good opportunity for relaxed conversation, in the course of which he could ask useful questions without everybody suddenly going dead quiet and staring at him. But the man on his left, Raffen, and the woman on his right (whose name escaped him for the moment) were bent over their plates like clockmakers engraving a face, giving their full attention to the job in hand; if he tried to start a conversation, the shock might make them swallow something the wrong way and choke. At the very least, they’d probably lose their places and have to start the whole meal over again.
    Never mind, Poldarn reflected; it was very good roast beef, and he hadn’t had to kill anyone to get it. The beer was good too, although it disconcerted him slightly when he drained his cup only to find a serious-faced child standing over him, waiting to fill it up again.
    After the main meal had been eaten (another point to check: did everybody finish eating at the same time?) the girls came round with slices of cheese, plums and fat red grapes, and a second refill of beer found its way into Poldarn’s cup while his attention was distracted. Apparently cheese- and grape-eating wasn’t such a serious business as putting away leeks and roast beef, because Poldarn could distinctly hear voices all around him – just one or two words, but speech nonetheless. He looked up from his plate to find Halder looking straight at him.
    â€˜Tomorrow,’ Halder said, ‘we’ll go and take a look at your wood.’
    That actually meant something to Poldarn: the memory burst out, like steam off the mountainside. He remembered quite clearly that on the day he’d been born, in accordance with the proper procedure, Halder and the middle-barn crew had planted out a stand of white ash down where the river curved round the side of the hill that marked the end of the combe. The idea was that when the time came for Poldarn to build his own house, those trees would be exactly ready. Although he hadn’t been that far away from the farm buildings since he’d been back, he could picture the plantation perfectly clearly in his mind. He could see Halder, thirty years younger, strolling along beside him, pointing out which sapling would one day be his roof-tree, which were to be the joists, the door timbers, the great and lesser sills, the girts and the braces. At the time Poldarn remembered feeling a great surge of comfort and safety that came from knowing that everything was laid out ready for him, through every step of his life – there’d be no doubt or uncertainty, all he had to do was go forward, and everything he’d ever need would be waiting for him, ready in its appointed place, where he could reach out for it without even having to stretch.
    â€˜Good,’ he replied. ‘I’d like that.’
    â€˜You remember the time we went there when you were a kid.’ It wasn’t a question.
    â€˜I was thinking about it just now,’ Poldarn replied. ‘I don’t suppose it looks anything like that now, though.’
    â€˜Pretty much the same,’ Halder said, ‘except the trees are bigger. Oh, and we lost one of the middle girts in a storm about fifteen years ago, but I know where there’s a beech that’ll drop in there just sweet.’
    Poldarn nodded. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘Now I’m trying to remember where the house is going to go. I’m sure we went there that day.’
    Halder actually smiled. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Twenty paces south-east from the roof-tree, there’s a rap of level ground with a good clay footing. First time I came here, it was touch and go whether I built my house there or here, but I chose here, because the other site – yours – is a bit more sheltered and closer to the water; and there’s a fine little pool under some rocks for your washing-hole.