The girl's fingers idly began to trace the hourglass pattern high on Picket's shoulder as she rode. She hummed to herself; a tune of contentment.
"Here," she said, suggesting with a squeeze of the knees that he should turn down a small path. Already the sounds of civilization were reaching his ears. Hens clucked while they scratched in the dirt. A pig squealed nearby. The grassy roof of a farmstead came into view just as Picket, intent on studying his surroundings, stepped into a hole and stumbled. The girl swung down and slapped his neck again.
"Oaf!" she angrily said. "You could have broken your leg! Or my neck! Watch where you're going!"
"Brighde!"
In midslap the girl's gesture turned into the casual raking of hair from her face. A middle-aged human woman came hurrying out of the ho
