Sect Year 5 · eleventh month · night of day 28 · the fifty-second life: the Haskett bend on the river, his eighth year
“Walk behind the ox until the field is ready.”
“Iron Constitution.”
Emmer woke in the hay loft while the boards above him were still black, with cold coming up through the straw and a boot pressed hard against his ribs. The boot belonged to the older of the two hired boys, who had slept on the far side of the pile all summer and had never once spoken to him before dark. It moved again, not kindly. Emmer rolled out of the hay before it could kick a second time.
“Up,” the boy said through his teeth. “Dapple won’t wait on you.”
Emmer went down the ladder with his bare feet finding each rung by feel. The barn below was dark and warm with animal breath. Light came through the gaps between the slats in thin grey bars, and in the far stall the ox stood with his head low over the trough. He was a plough ox, big in the shoulder and thin in the flank, and his hide had gone bald in patches where the yoke had rubbed it for years. Even in the half dark the yoke’s bows showed bright from use. The ox lifted his head when Emmer came near, slowly, and looked at him with one wet eye. Then he went back to the trough, as though the boy had not…
