“I wish I were just a herd boy—in some other village.” He went to the door and looked out.
Someone had disturbed the pile of building stones. Children had been playing in the clearing the night before and the earth was scuffed up. Bits of wood and cloth lay scattered here and there.
He looked at the houses. Folshan’s roof was sagging a trifle, he noticed. And there were a couple of dolls lying outside his door. He shook his head and went out into the clearing.
Old Tamiso was squatting by the well. Retonga walked over to him.
“Your stone pile,” he said. “A few of the stones are scattered.”
The old man looked over, then shrugged.
“I just picked this one out,” he explained. “When I get it laid, I’ll have to get another. I’ll straighten the pile when I finish here.”
Retonga smiled wearily. “And if the master sees your pile now?”
Tamiso pushed himself to his feet, rubbing his back thoughtfully.
“Yes,” he said. “The master can give great pain, and it seems he is