Sorra stared at the confused goblin--confused herself by the other woman's words. Finally, she blinked several times, broke off another piece of bread, and held it out.

"Not cooking," she said. "Collecting." As if to demonstrate, she bent down and picked up a small, wayward turnip, wiping it off on the hem of her shirt before adding it to her sack.

She listened to Samuel's story in grim silence. Talk of protectors made her grit her teeth again in sudden anger, eyes narrowing dangerously, but this time she kept her face from snarling at him. What help had the mage thought he could bring if he wasn't back yet? Sorra's fist tightened around her sickle. He ran or he was dead, just like everyone else. He hadn't protected anyone.

Sorra gritted her teeth again. And then the anger was gone as quickly as it had come. Still as clear water, said the old priest's voice in her head. She took a deep breath, ignored the mage, and turned back to the goblin as calm practicality took over.

"Do you know which way the pony went?" she asked.