– 3 –

Saul is a kid. He’s a smith-dwarf kid, a svart-elf kid. He grows up in the fields and the lich-rows. He plays among the eoliths and the cobblestones that are deep under the surfaces of things.

He milks the blood-draugr. He collects the lung-eggs. He hauls hay into Barnface.

It is a lot of work.

“I wish I could skip my chores,” he says, miserably, one evening.

“I’m sorry, honey,” says Aubrid, who is his mom. She musses his hair. “It’s just, if you’re bad, Hans will prison you away.”

“I know,” Saul sighs.

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