It was all I could do not to turn my head and spit on the floor as they passed.Before I left, I changed my kirtle and surcote for trousers and a tunic, and wrapped my star-blue cloak about my shoulders. Then I slid my belt-knife from its sheath and I went to work on the dress. It was the work of moments to pick out the stitches binding sleeve to bodice. I folded my scribbled cuff into a roll, careful of the ink so it might not smudge.That done, I followed the strains of his flute to Yrenbend.He had dragged a little bench outside, beside the door, and sat in the starlit darkness playing a fragile descending tune I’d never heard before. I leaned against the wall beside him and started binding on my skis. He played a few bars to me, eyes dancing behind the flute despite the sorrow in the music, and then he brought the tune to a close with a flourish.He stood and slid the flute into its case at his hip. I handed him my sleeve.“What’s this?” he asked.“You tell me, Yrenbend.” I kept my voice low.
