After the meal, the two thanked Ana and Kamiki for the meal, then they went to Iruga’s old room. It was small and had not changed much since he moved to the barn. The same low cot, the same shelf with nothing useful on it. He pulled open the chest at the foot of the bed and dug through it until he found what he was looking for — folded cloth, soft from age, the kind of careful stitching that took time.

  "Here," he said, holding them out to Chiyo. "These were mine when I was a kid. They should fit."

  Chiyo took them and held them up. He turned them over slowly, examining the seams, the small even stitches running along the hem and collar.

  "These are well made," he said, and he meant it.

  "My mother made them," Iruga said.

  Chiyo looked at the clothes for a moment longer, then began to change without ceremony.

  Iruga sat on the edge of the cot and stared at the floor and tried to breathe through what his chest was doing.

  He needed to ask his father for time off. Days, possibly more. He needed a reason that would hold. He needed Kamiki Sagun, village head, to look at him and say yes when every morning of Iruga's life had been accounted for by somebody else's needs before his own. His palms were damp. His jaw was tight.

  Underneath all of it, quiet and surprising, was something that felt like excitement. He had never left Smardoh. The furthest he had ever gone was the outskirts of the village, delivering sacks of dung fertilizer to the fields at the edge. That was the boundary of his world. And now he was about to ask to go past it.

  He stood up before he could talk himself out of it.

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  He found Kamiki in the main room. His father looked up from what he was doing and Iruga felt the familiar weight of that look, the one that had been measuring him since he was old enough to hold a shovel.

  "Father," Iruga said. "I need to accompany Chiyo back to his family." He kept his voice level. "You know Gaban lives three villages up north. Nokra. The wildlife will get to this kid before he reaches it on his own."

  Kamiki's face did not change immediately. The irritation came through first, working its way to the surface slowly, the way it always did with him. He looked at Iruga and then past Iruga at nothing in particular, and Iruga held very still.

  Then Kamiki said, "I raised you right then."

  He looked back at his son. "Go ask your mother for a few nights' supplies for the road to Nokra. And take my sword with you."

  Iruga nodded once and left the room before his face could do anything that would complicate matters.

  The relief hit him in the hallway. He stood there for a moment with his back against the wall and let it move through him, and with it came the other thing — the quiet, unfamiliar feeling of being about to go somewhere he had never been.

  He had spent his entire life in Smardoh. Every morning the same smell, the same shovel, the same slow circles. The furthest the world had ever extended for him was the village outskirts. Now his father had just handed him a sword and told him to go.

  He pushed off the wall and went to find his mother.

  Ana listened without interrupting, which was her way. When he finished she was already moving to the pantry, pulling things down from shelves with the practiced efficiency of a woman who had been feeding people through difficult circumstances her whole life.

  She packed without rushing — dried meat, hard bread, a small cloth of salt, a skin for water. She handed it to him and then held his face in both hands and looked at him the way mothers look at sons they are letting go of, just for a moment, before they let go.

  "Come back with all your fingers," she said.

  "I'll do my best," Iruga said.

  She kissed his forehead and released him. He picked up his pack, took his father's sword from beside the door, and stepped outside.