"But there'll be rain to-morrow."
"I don't think it. The sky's all red at the rims."
"The wind's shifted."
Joanna moistened her finger and held it up—
"So it has. But the glass is high. Reckon it'll hold off till you're in the shires, and then our weather won't trouble you."
She watched him ride off, standing in the doorway till the loops of the Brodnyx road carried him into the rusty fog that was coming from the sea.