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Mori smiled as he turned to the old woman. ‘Was I singing, Mistress Goody? Stamo often chides me for it. Though, usually I’ve no idea I’m doing it.’ He looked toward the floor, his mind recalling the notes he had been humming. ‘Ah, that one has no words.’ He looked toward Goody once again and hummed part of the interweaving melody. ‘Pretty isn’t it . . . and pleasing.’
The two men sat with the old woman as morning past into late afternoon. They spoke with her at times, in low voices. And of times she would be seen to nod at what they said, and at others she would shake her finger at them as if they had gotten something wrong. And she would speak, then, flicking her eyes briefly at times from the fire to the two men.
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