them against her face and rubbed against them like a cat, soaking in the warmth that emanated from the battered wood. "Old wooden beads," she said. "I can't tell exactly how old, but they've been given in love and worn that way for a long, long time. They comfort me - did they comfort you while you were far from your home?" She didn't wait for his answer, "Tell me the story of your gardening for Karadoc?"
"I was young," he said finally. "Karadoc is... well, you've met him. He always took time to talk to me, listening to me when my father and I fought."
His voice hadn't fallen into the cadences of storytelling; he told this story hesitantly. "Karadoc broke his wrist; I told you that. His garden is his pride and joy, and it started to get overgrown almost immediately. I suppose being the priest of the god of green and growing things has a certain influence on your garden."
"He hired a boy to tend it, but when harvest season came the boy had to help his father in the field, and Karadoc couldn't find another one. So I started getting up a little earlier in the morning so I could work on it a bit."
Seraph smiled a little; the beads and Tier's company had worked their own magic. "He didn't know you were doing it."
"Well, I wasn't certain that I would do it more than once or twice. A baker gets up early to miss cooking in the heat of the day. I didn't want to promise something I couldn't do."
"And Karadoc found you out," said Seraph. "When you wouldn't take any pay, he gave you these."
He nodded.
Seraph put the necklace around her throat. Gifts could not be returned, only appreciated. She would find something she could do to repay him for his kindness to her and his gift. A Traveler's blessing could be a useful thing.
"Thank you for this," she said. "I will treasure it as long as it remains in my hands and pass it on as you have, as Karadoc did."
They lapsed into a comfortable silence.
"A man asked me today what I'd do if I could do something besides baking and soldiering," he said at last.
"What did you answer?"
"Farming," he said.
She nodded. "The land gives back everything you put into it and a little more, if you have the knack."
"If you could do anything, be anything, what would it be?"
She stilled. She knew about villages, knew that most men's fates were set in stone when they were little more than children and apprenticed to a trade - or else they were cast off never to be more than itinerant workers or soldiers. Women's lives were dictated by their husbands.
Travelers were a little more free than that usually. A bowyer could decide to smith if he wanted to, as long as he continued to contribute to the clan. There were no guilds to restrict a person from doing as he willed. And women, women ran the clan. Only the lives of the Ordered were set out from the moment a Raven pronounced them gifted at birth.
No Traveler would ever have asked a Raven what she wanted to be.
The silence must have lasted too long because he said, "That question took me aback, today, too. But I learned something. What would you do?"
"Ravens don't marry," she said abruptly. He was easy to talk to, especially in the dark. "We can't afford the distraction. We don't do the normal chores of the clan. No cooking or firewood gathering. We don't darn our own clothes or sew them."
"You cook well," he said.
"That's because Ushireh couldn't cook at all. I learned a lot when we were left on our own. But being a Raven's not like being a baker, Tier. You could leave it and become a soldier. You can leave it now and become a farmer if you want. But I can't leave being a Raven behind."
"But if you could - what would you do?"
She leaned back on her hands and swung her feet back and forth, the bench being somewhat tall for her. In a dreamy, smiling voice she said, "I would be a wife, like the old harridan who runs an inn in Boarsdock on the western coast. She has a double handful of children, all of them taller than her, and they all cringe when she walks by. Her husband is an old sailing man with one leg. I don't think I've ever heard him say