The cask was big enough for twenty pounds of salt. How full was it? Mha’s hope thrummed. She tried to dampen it before November noticed and was compelled to thwart it. She made herself watch Thorn’s two-cane shamble back to her seat, refusing to surrender to dangerous hope.
“Go on, then,” Thorn said. “Pick it up. I’ll make the tea.”
Mha lifted the keg’s loose lid.
It was nearly full.
If Thorn permitted her the whole cask, Mha could accept every scrap of Uraz’s final gift. Not just the meat, but the organs and bowels as well.
Mha commanded her heart to slow. “I could move coal for this.”
“Oh, you go on,” Thorn said. “Take it, take it. You more than earned a few pounds of salt.”
Earned? How had Mha earned this?
No, she couldn’t get angry. She’d already lost her pride by living too lo
