When I caught up with the little girl on the other side of a low hill, she was lowering her bucket down into a water well. A passing wind caught her twin braids and carried them forward over her shoulders. Wisps of rogue orange curls floated around her head, catching the yellow light in a kind of halo.
“The lady you are looking for,” she said as I approached. “Is she in trouble?” Her narrow eyes were fixed on the rope as she slacked it loose with tiny but skilled and careful hands.
Distantly, I heard the pail splash down and go underwater; she switched her grip, pressed one foot against the base of the stone wellhead for leverage, and started hauling the bucket surface-bound.
I shook my head, saw her eyes flick up to watch my reaction. “Not with me,” I answered. “I’m a friend.”
I c
