Three weeks ago, Burdock had lost one of his bows in the woods. He’d assumed that some wild animal had dragged it off or something. Nothing to worry about. Until one day when he went to the Hob to trade a rabbit he’d caught.

There you were, in your corner, showing a bow to a man. Burdock’s bow. You locked eyes with them and hid it away, shooing off the customer.

Burdock stormed over. It was a bad idea to own a bow and risk getting in trouble, but it was a worse one to sell a bow and be accused of arming the people. That was an easy way to get yourself killed. And if you got caught, and the bow was traced back to Burdock…

“The hell are you doing?” Burdock hissed. “That’s my bow you’re trying to sell. Illegally, I might add.”