Page 5 of Anwen of Primewood
Our progress is slow, but it’s faster than walking, and I’m grateful for that. I try to make small talk, but the farmer is a man of few words. By noon, the afternoon sun is hot, and I’m starving.
“Where are you headed?” I ask, stroking Danver’s fur as he sleeps across my lap. My legs dangle from the back of the wagon, and I watch the road we’ve already traveled.
“Estlebrook,” the farmer answers.
“Are you selling your pumpkins?”
I look back at the wagon full of gourds. The man glances over his shoulder, looks at the pumpkins, and turns to me. He then raises an eyebrow, silently suggesting my question was a foolish one.
I shrug. “It’s a little early in the season for winter squash, isn’t it?”
The man grunts and then turns back to the road. He doesn’t want to talk.
That’s fine.
I curl my hair around my finger, once again wishing for a comb. I stare at the trees; I stare at the road.
“Who do you sell your pumpkins to?” I ask, turning around again. The wagon comes to a halt. “I’m sorry. I’ll be quiet, I swear.”
“I’m not going to keep twisting my neck like an owl,” the farmer answers. He motions to the empty seat next to him. “Get yourself up here.”
I scurry from the wagon and climb the steps to settle down next to the farmer, leaving Danver to nose around in the pumpkins.
“Your fox better not eat anything back there.”
I shake my head, surprised he noticed Danver at all. “Oh, no. He might eat a mouse or two if he finds them, but he won’t eat the pumpkins.”
The farmer grunts, and the horses continue on.
“I’m Winnie,” I say, using a nickname my family hasn’t called me since I was old enough to read.
He gives me a wry smile. “Ergmin.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Ergmin. Thank you for the ride.”
A little brown bird with a bright orange chest settles on the wooden rails next to me, hopping a few times before it finds a perch it likes.
“I know who you are.” Ergmin speaks to me but eyes the bird.
My spirits sink. “You do?”
“What are you running from, Lady Anwen?”
“How did you know?”
He nods to the back. “The fox.”
“Oh.”
“I also tried to sell those pumpkins to your father a few days ago. He told me it was too early for winter squash as well.”
I shrug. It is too early. They’ll rot in storage before winter is over.
“I should return you to the Baron.”
I sigh. “Please don’t.”
Ergmin doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t slow the horses either. We continue on to Estlebrook.
