ABSTRACT
Grief grew in Mala as the grain in her patch of ground three hours walk from the Place grew, slowly ripening toward fullness. Though she neglected to go see them as she should, she knew the tops of the stalks would be heavy with seed and that the time to harvest was coming fast, yet she passed silent days with her feet hanging over the roof at the warm-side Edge watching the marsh dry out. The wheat was growing, but her grief was growing, too, so heavy now she could not move.
