The first fish came ashore in a boat that had forgotten how to be quiet.
Its feeler rods hummed against the grooves. Deren stepped out with a basket under each arm and the expression of a man who had personally persuaded the lake to resume business. Merla took the larger basket before he could make a speech.
“Those go to the smokehouse,” she said. “These go to the square. You can be grateful while you carry them.”
Ysabet liked her enormously in that moment.
They ate beside the cookhouse, where Veyna had hung the torn awning again. Its patches showed dark against the afternoon light. Children poked the repaired places, delighted that an ordinary roof had traveled inside the singer. One little girl asked whether she could sleep under it. Her mother said she already did whenever she fell asleep during supper.
Chaska had food in both hands and no free way to defend herself from further offerings. Gevren’s payment had been generous but practical. This was different: people giving her things because they could not bear not to give. She accepted a knitted cap, tried it on over her braid, and made Lilt look at her.
The sandray closed one eye.
