. . .

Vaenwode runs, long and lank in the sun-bird’s light, beneath the surfaces of things.

Hans turns; Hans sees him fleeing across the way-fields; Hans sniffs the air, takes in a deep breath of it, and catches the waft of the wolf-gold in Vaenwode’s purse.

For a long moment Hans considers; then he comes to a decision.

He takes eight great strides, pulls down a bar, and loosens the enclosure of the goat.

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