43 Barin
The wagon bumped up and down through a deep rut, sending hay scattering behind them. “You know, we won’t be able to keep up the ruse that we are selling hay in Hollens if there is no hay left when we get there,” Barin says, moving to the back of the wagon again to push what is left of the pile forward. Most of it is still caught by the bit of fabric that stretches across the back of the wagon, but a good portion is littered out behind them in a trail leading back to Bulandon.
“I know that. When we get there, we are going to say we are transporting pottery back. That way when we don’t have all the hay, it is okay. We won’t need that much,” Enre says like it should be the most obvious thing in the world.
Barin nods, but he doesn’t think the lie will work. Though he has never be
