The rain came in off the ridge before the bell, and by the time the bread was cut the yard had turned to mud.
Hoff did not let anyone outside. He stood in the kitchen doorway with his coat dripping on the flags and said it once.
“Kitchen. All of you. Nobody goes near the wall, and nobody goes near the trough.”
So the class sat at the long table with the lamps lit, although it was not yet noon. The fire in the stove was low and red.
The window above the basin was streaked grey, and every few breaths another drop ran down the glass and joined the others at the sill.
Tobin sat nearest the window. He watched the drops form and fall. His lips moved.
“Eleven,” he said quietly. “Twelve.”
Calen sat at the far end of the table with the Hask Book shut in front of him. He had not opened it since the gate.
