“There’s another man o’ Logie doesn’t heed your snares, Nita.”
“You’re old, shepherd. I’d mistake you for a grey rock if I didn’t see you move from time to time. Have you shot Storm the sheep-slayer yet?”
“Not yet. When I do, it’s a sign that Garsykes ends.”
Then once again some little breeze of fear played about Nita, but she would not heed it.
“A gypsy woman came to our village, Brant, not so long since. She had the Sight.”
“Oh, aye,” growled the shepherd.
“She told us of Hardcastle and his fight against Garsykes.”
“Gleaned that sort o’ news from any man or child about the country-side. I’m acquainted with all the tricks of Romany—especially sheep-stealing.”
“She said an ancient shepherd was seeking a dog named Storm, to kill him.”
“It’s true.”