“You’re going to need these.” The old woman’s raspy voice hissed as she jammed fist-sized bags of seed into the young girl’s hands. “Don’t let them get wet. And never, never let anyone know how much you’ve got!”

“I don’t understand, Avó. How will I pay, then?”

It was ten years ago and that girl didn’t know anything about anything. If she thought about it, it would be hard for her to imagine how she managed to survive the first week after that day. But the old woman was patient with her. Always patient. Avó wasn’t the old woman’s name; it’s what children in Fareburne called all of the elder women. However, this particular older woman was more than that to the young girl; she was like a grandmother to her.

The woman had paused a moment, gripping the girl’s hand in her wrinkled, earth-worn palm. The girl couldn’t help but notice how much smaller and softer her own hand was.

“Before you get into a town, take out a small amount and stow the rest. You don’t use more than that little bit while in the town. Dear word, you’re not ready for this.” She went back to frantically stuffing a sack with gear, mumbling. “She’s not ready.”

And the girl had stood there. Dumb. Watching her elder work. Trying to keep track of where the old woman put each item, and failing. It didn’t matter much; the girl didn’t know what half of those items were. The woman probably didn’t, either. She was on autopilot, grabbing through teary blindness at anything that might be remotely useful.

“Will I see you again?”

The girl’s question was simple enough, but it stopped the elder in her tracks. Her hands were trembling.

“Me? No. I’ll be gone soon enough.”

“But what about the others. What if I—”

“You see anyone you think you recognize, you run, child! Do you understand? They aren’t those people anymore. They aren’t people at all. You stay out of sight and you run. The Shadowfold has come to Fareburne. The Umbrati and Karui won’t be far behind. The others—our people—they are gone. You’re all that’s left.”

“We’re all that’s left.” The girl reached out and placed her hand on the older woman’s arm, trying to console her, but not really knowing how to do it, or why.

The old woman smiled faintly, knowingly. She turned her head to the door and then nodded. “For a little while longer.”

Her hands had stopped trembling and returned to diligently stuffing the sack. Her renewed calm triggered panic in the girl, a sudden realization.

“What will I have people call me? I’ve not yet earned a name.”

The old woman stopped again. This time she made it a point to looked at the young girl. “You can use my name. Have them call you Corva.”