Across the Face of the World by Russell Kirkpatrick

Farm crested over Swill Down, a few hundred feet above the Vale of Loulea. At times like these, when he found himself all alone in the quiet beauty of the Vale, Leith liked to swagger down the road as the owner of the world. But today, as he hurried past darkened hedgerows and snow-laden groves of trees, he felt uneasy. He saw the snow and ice around him take on a rosy glow, noticed the occasional load of snow sigh and slough off a pine branch, listened to the faint hum of a myriad of faraway sounds brought to him on the crisp morning air. But this morning it failed to move him.
    At the top of the first ridge he turned and looked to the east, back over the Vale and the flickering points of light that made up his village, towards the seat of the dawn. Though the sun was still shy of the horizon, the reddish glow in the eastern sky threw the outline of the distant Fells into sharp relief. But to Leith the morning just didn't feel right. He deliberately turned his back on the unfolding scene and made his way towards Kurr's farm.
    Leith caught up with the farmer on the last slope down to the farmhouse. At the sound of panting breath and crunching gravel the farmer waited, and grunted an indecipherable greeting to the youth when he finally arrived at his side. Without another word, the old man and the youth made their way past the outbuildings to the place where twenty or so long-haired sheep were penned.
    To the relief of the embarrassed youth none of his friends witnessed the strange sight of Leith and Kurr driving a flock of cantankerous sheep through the middle of the village. Probably all still in bed, Leith thought ruefully. The hard winter had its benefits; it was too harsh to do much outdoors work, the bulk of which was done in the short summer. This meant that, for the youngsters at least, winter was a time of leisure, apart from two afternoons a week learning from the Haufuth. But Leith was finding that as he grew older there were more demands made on him, like working for this cranky old farmer, and less time remained to pursue his own interests. And he knew that if his father ever returned, the job of teaching him a skill would begin in earnest. Leith hadn't thought much about that. He didn't know much about being a Trader, and he didn't know if he wanted to find out.
    A grunt of command snapped the youth out of his thoughts.
    'Pardon?'
    'I said turn them left here, boy.' The old man pointed with his stick down a rutted path towards a tree-crowned hillock.
    'Here? I thought you weren't - I mean, aren't you—'
    'Yes?' There was menace in the voice. Leith knew he was in trouble. He took a deep breath.
    'Someone said that you weren't sending any sheep to Midwinter this year.'
    'Oh? Where did you think we were going then, boy?'
    Leith mumbled something in answer. He never should have asked the old man questions. He should have stayed in bed.
    'Who said I wasn't bringing the sheep? Who said? I'll wager that it was useless old villagers with nothing better to do than flap their tongues like swallows flying south for winter!' The farmer stabbed his stick repeatedly into the ground to punctuate his words. 'None of 'em with the gumption to come and ask why, and just as well for them! And none of 'em with the decency to come and lend a hand! I'll tell you why I wasn't going to bring the sheep. No one offered to help round them up!' The old man swore, then struck the gate a fearsome blow with his closed fist. 'Tinei and me out in the snow! I never should have listened to her. Out in the snow rounding them up, and now she's in bed again, stretched out by the fever. And I've got Mahnum's boy helping bring the sheep to Midwinter. And no thanks will I receive - you'll see! A few polite words, or maybe not so polite, and then back to their work, glad to see the back of an irritable old farmer.' He lifted his face to Watch Hill, the highest land in the North March, a few miles to their right. 'They're not worth it, they're not worth