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Chapter I

It was a muggy, rainy day in midsummer, and Saure Fira was about her morning chores when her parents called to her from their brush wagon. Her firey magenta-and-gold hair clung to her forehead and neck, and her old brown scarf didn't do much to keep the rain off her head. She removed this garment, and picked up the hem of her plum and russet skirts to step carefully through the sod and mud. Her boots were a man's boots, and much too large. One slipped off her foot to remain stubbornly in the muck. She grumbled at it, removing its mate, and simply continued barefoot.

"What kept you, girl?" her father scolded.
She sighed, gesturing to her feet. This was apparently reason enough for him.
"We're off to Nora to sell the stock." he shouted over the rainfall. "You mind the home place while we're gone."
"Alone?" she queried.
"Aye. Yer old enough now, I trow."
She frowned at him, but nodded. Her father barked "HA!" at the oxen and flicked the reigns to get them moving. Her mother smiled and waved.
"You be good! And don't ye heed what those kirnboys jeer at ye!" she called to her daughter.
"Aye, so I won't!" Saure called back.

As Saure returned to her chores (retrieving her forsaken, wet boots), she mused on her newly-bestowed responsibility. She was still only fifteen springs. The age of reason in those parts didn't come till one's nineteenth spring. She reckoned herself responsible for her age, but watching the house for a fortnight was almost like being grown-up.

A junco flitted into the tamarind tree Saure had grown from a pod, and watched her as she went about her chores.
"Don't green things need the wet? Don't they don't they? Green things need the wet, all know this know this." the junco peeped.

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Saure ignored the bird, pulling an oilskin over the last of her loveseed sprouts to keep the rain out.
"Silly thing! Silly thing! Silly thing!" the junco shrieked, "Green things die without the wet! Even greenhands can't bring the green things without the wet!"
"Oh, pipe down, ye dimwitted finch!" Saure shouted up at the bird. It squeaked, startled, and fluttered away. She set her lip and "hmmph”ed in the avian's general direction. She turned back to her task and grumbled to herself quietly.
"'Green things' can drown just as well as birds can. Just as soon as ye grow a set of thumbs, you can lecture me on the morals of herbology and fluid dynamics."

As she was muttering to herself, one of the Dess boys strolled by. It's common for man-folken in their land to go out to enjoy a summer shower, as long as their health permits, but Feroy Dess had ulterior motives for his rainy-day walk by the Fira farm.
"They say folken who talk to themselves aren't alone in their heads, dearie." the boy called to her in a heckling tone. "How many do ye keep in there, do ye think?"
Saure, who was used to this sort of thing, shook her head and ignored him. She tied her scarf under her chin and carried a tray of masterwort into the greenshed.
"Deaf now, too, eh? So ye can hear yer voices but not mine, allofasudden?" he jeered, stepping into the greenshed after her.
She spun around, giving him an intense, narrow glare through her bright violet eyes.

"Oh, I can hear you just fine, bucko. You know what I hear? Cowardice. You know they say boys who taunt and tease a lass as you do are actually disguising feelings of adoration? The problem is their stones haven't dropped yet, so they don't have the spunk to speak, so to say."

The Dess boy had turned scarlet in the face at this unexpected speech. He stumbled out of the greenshed, apparently at a loss for a comeback.