As she ran coarse grass caught at Fand's dress hem almost tripping her. Righting herself the questions that dogged her started circling in her brain. How did Jerue know where Zog was and what he would do this night? Was it divination or perhaps revenge as Uncle Wert suggested? Could a Head Councilman be motivated by hate? Why would the Keeper allow such a thing?

As she crossed the potato field she saw and old mule and ox pulling a painted peddler’s cart. It was headed down the path that lead into the woods. Fand stopped and studied the cart. It’s yellow and turquoise paint was pealing and faded. A large painting of elder flowers and sage decorated the side. A traveling herbalist? Perhaps. Was there medicine for what ailed Zog? On the driver’s seat was a lone woman. Her long black braid was laced with fine threads of silver. She looked toward Fand and waved. Fand raised her hand and waved back. The woman pulled the reigns of her animals and stopped. With an accent that Fand could not place, the woman called out, “Looks like you could use a tonic or some tea.”

Fand nodded.

“Come along then, my beasts need a rest.” Nimbly, she jumped off the seat and headed around to the back of her cart. Fand reached her just as she opened a small door beside the larger entry door to the cart. Behind the small door were corked bottles with pictures drawn on them. The pictures were of the healing herbs. She asked Fand, “So tell me what the trouble is and I will fix you up.”

Silently, Fand wondered, Is it a good idea to take medicine from a stranger? A loud she said, “I don’t have any copper or silver to pay you with.”

“No worries about that, I prefer to barter. Have you anything of value on you?”

Outside of her dove pendant, she had nothing of value. She shook her head.

“So, you're poor as piss, just like myself. Well, my sister, or should I say daughter, I will give you some wild mint to cure the ache in your stomach, but I cannot do anything for the ache in your heart.”

Fand just stared at the woman. How did she know? The eyes that gazed back at her were the same exact shade and color as her own. They were so similar it was startling.

From the group of bottles near the bottom, the woman took one with a mint leaf on it. She handed it to Fand and said, “You look like you are in need of a good turn. This is on the house.” She handed the bottle to Fand.

Fand took it. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome. Now, as for that welt on your face, I’ve got some ointment that will take the sting away. I can give you a sample. It will help the sting.” She pulled down another bottle with a flame painted on it. She shook a bit onto her long fingers and gently applied it to the place where Zog had slapped Fand. The salve was cool to the skin and numbing. Fand didn’t know what it was, but it was working.

The woman asked, “Does he hit you often?”

Fand shook her head. “No, today was the first time.”

With an edge in her voice, the woman said, “Don’t let it happen again. Once a man hits you, he is either so sorry he never does it again, or he develops a taste for it and strikes out again and again.”

Fand sensed there was experience behind these words. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good. Well, I best be pressing on. I don’t want to get caught out after dark.” She closed the small door and went back to the cart seat and climbed up. With a nod of her head, she said, “Take care of yourself.” She clucked to the mule and oxen, “On Jaco, on Sau.” The animals moved forward. The cart swayed and creaked as it went.

Fand remained rooted. She watched the card travel into the woods until she couldn’t see it any more. The sting of her cheek was better. She uncorked the bottle she had been given and sniffed its contents. It smelled of peppermint and spearmint. There was a little something extra that she could not name. She took a swig of the elixir. It felt like an ice cold stream moving down her throat. When it reached her stomach, the churning inside her gut stilled. She placed her hand over her stomach. Never had she received medicines like these. The woman was a learned herbalist or a witch. Either way, Fand was grateful.

She turned her attention back to the path toward home. Home was the last place she wanted to go. She couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like to live in a traveling cart? What was it like to live the wanderer's life? Fand had always lived here on this land. It was all she knew and all she expected she would ever know...unless of course he arrived. He might whisk her away like her father had whisked her mother away from the Ruhe Mountains. Had her mother missed the mountains and home? Surely, she had. If her mother was still alive, she would probably be as old as that woman. She might even look like that woman.

For a bit, Fand wandered through the fields. She scared up a covey of quail. The burst of their flight made Fand wish she could fly. What was it like to have wings?

The shadows of the trees began to grow longer. It was getting late and Uncle Wert would want to be fed again. With a sigh, she made her way home. When she reached the cottage, she heard Uncle Wert snoring. He sounded like a snorting pig. In fact in this moment, Fand thought he was a stupid pig. She stepped onto the porch. Uncle Wert was in the hammock sound asleep. On the floor beside him was his empty jug. Drool dribbled down the side of his face. He smelled of brew and sweat. Disgusted, Fand went inside. Was Zog home? She did not call out for him. Instead, she silently went from room to room searching for him. He was not in the house.

Time passed. It grew dark. Uncle Wert woke from his drunken nap. His stomach was upset, but Fand had no pity for him. In silence she made him some toast and warm milk. He did not protest, but ate it slowly. When he finished he looked up from his plate and asked, “Has Zog been home?”

Unwilling to speak, Fand shook her head.

Uncle Wert made a poor attempt at bravado when he said, “Well, I am sure he is fine and having a good time.”

Fand said nothing. She removed the bowl and spoon from the table and placed then in the sink. Later, she would wash them. Another moment in the kitchen with Uncle Wert was more than she could bear. She grabbed her bow and arrows off their peg and went out to the pear orchard. A little target practice would do her good.

With care she set up blocks of wood on a fence post. There were two small blocks that she named Zog and Uncle Wert. She took aim at the Zog one and sent him flying. The block hit the ground with a thud. The sound was satisfying in a sadistic way. Next she aimed at the Uncle Wert block. He too went flying. One by one she released her arrows. If she had the guts she would have named one of the blocks Jerue, but that seemed very unwise given his position and his power. Zog had told her Council Members could read other people’s thoughts. It seemed terribly intrusive to Fand and a skill she had no use for.

When her quiver was empty, she retrieved her arrows and went back to the yard. Still, there was no sign of Zog.

The sun set, darkness fell and still Zog did not return. Uncle Wert sat by the hearth fire nervously smoking his pipe. The old bastard was worried after all. Fand still said nothing. She had nothing to say.

It grew later and later. Finally, Uncle Wert got up and went to his room without saying good night. It would not be a good night. Fand went out onto the porch and curled up in the hammock. She turned her gaze to the sky. The moon's face was beginning to turn. In time, even the moon would desert her for a little while. At least it was with her still. She found small comfort in that. Gently, she swung herself back and forth in the hammock. She should be in bed, but she was honestly afraid of going to sleep. If she did she would she dream again of the Sonpur? As frightening as last night’s dream had been, it did not compare with the fear she felt now. She felt certain. Zog wasn’t coming home tonight. Would he come home tomorrow? If he did who would he be?