Legacy - Lois McMaster Bujold [19]
“Well, some do,” said Omba. “Some remember their slingshots. Someone should have given one to your mother when she was a girl, maybe.”
“At her age, she’s not going to change.”
“You’ve made a change.”
Dag shrugged, and asked instead, “How’re Swallow and Darkling?”
Omba’s face brightened. “Wonderful well. That black colt’s going to be fit to go for a stud when he’s grown, I think. He’ll fetch you a good price. Or if you finally want to trade in Snakebrain over there for dog meat, you could ride him yourself. I’d train him up for you. You two’d look mighty fine, patrolling.”
“Mm, thanks, but no. Sometime tomorrow or the next day, soon as I have a chance, I want to pull them out of the herd. I’ll get a packsaddle for Swallow, and Darkling can trot at her heels. Send them down to West Blue with my bride-gifts to Fawn’s mama, which I am fearsome late presenting.”
“Your best horses!” said Omba in dismay.
Dag smiled a slow smile. “Why not? They gave me their best daughter.”
“But I’m their only daughter,” said Fawn.
“Saves argument there, eh?” said Dag.
Omba caught up her braid and rubbed the end. “To farmers! What do they know about Lakewalker horses? What if they try to make Swallow pull a plow? Or cut Darkling? Or…” Her face screwed up, as she evidently pictured even worse farmer misuse of the precious horses.
“My family takes good care of our horses,” said Fawn stiffly. “Of all our animals.”
“They won’t understand,” said Omba.
“I will,” said Dag. He gave her a nod. “See you at dinner. Who’s cookin’?”
“Cumbia. You might want to grab a plunkin off the goats on the way, to fortify yourselves.”
“Thanks, but I guess we’ll survive.” He gestured Fawn away. She gave Omba another knee-dip and smile by way of farewell; the Lakewalker woman just shook her head and returned a sardonic wave. But not hostile, Fawn reminded herself.
As they reached the bridge again, Dag held the gate aside for a girl leading a couple of horses with pannier baskets piled high with plunkins; she gave him a nod of thanks. These plunkins did indeed seem to be mostly broken or weirdly misshapen or with odd discolorations. Fawn glanced back to see her walking along chirping and tossing out plunkins along her path, and a general movement among the goats and pigs toward this feast.
“Lakewalker animals eat plunkins too, do they?”
“Horses and cows and sheep can’t. The pigs and goats chomp them down. So will dogs.”
“I haven’t seen many dogs. I’d think you’d have more, for hunting and such. For hunting malices, even.”
“We don’t keep many. Dogs are more hazard than help on patrol. The malices snap them right up, and they have no defense. Except us, and if you’re trying to bring down a malice, it’d be no use to be distracted trying to protect a dog, especially if it’s turning on you itself.”
As they strolled back along the shore road, Fawn asked curiously, “Was your mother ever a patroller?”
“I think she had the training, way back when. All the youngsters at least get taken out on short trips around the camps. Patrollers are chosen for two things, mainly. General health and strength, and groundsense range. Not everyone can project their groundsense out far enough to be useful on patrol. The lack’s not considered a defect, necessarily; many’s the quite competent maker who can’t reach out much beyond his arm’s length.”
“Is Dar like that?”
“No, his range is almost as long as mine. He’s just even better at what he does with bones. What my mother always wanted, now…” He trailed off.
Volunteering useful information at last? No, evidently not. Fawn sighed and prompted, “Was what?”
“More children. Just didn’t work out that way for her, whether because Father was out on patrol too much, or they were just unlucky, or what, I don’t know. I should have