The thief’s ink still stained her palms and thumbs, stubborn even against sweat. It’d be another week before the black mess disappeared. Corinna grabbed a handful of wheat stalks and sheared the base with a rusty cutlass, hoping at least the rough handle would do something to make the ink fade. Either way, it wasn’t her first time getting caught stealing, but it’d sure be her last if she had anything to say about it.
Dust had choked the life from most of the crops that year, leaving the yields light and her family’s stomachs lighter. Word in the marketplace was that the whole region suffered the same, but at least her family was far out enough to make them a rare target for raids. Not that it didn’t happen. Not that she blamed them or could say she was any better. Rarely was she caught st
