" . . . Three pouches of herbs!? For that!?" Sigrid exclaimed in mock surprise. The morning's trading is quickly coming to a lovely end. Throughout the day, she had seen her bag of things empty and fill up multiple times. She had promised herself three exchanges ago that that was the last one, and this time she intended to go through.

"The fruits I pick are the highest quality in the village, and my hide is the most fertile in perhaps the entire eorldom," the man said, turning his nose up.

"Isn't that what the other man . . . what was his name . . . Æthelbald, said?" Sigrid said. She had to hide her giggles when the farmer's blood vessels began to pulse in his neck.

"Well, that inbred cow thinks he can grow better pears than me, eh? Well, taste changes depending on who's buying, but price is constant! At two pouches of herbs, that makes one of my pears the less disagreeable price, doesn't it?" the farmer sneered. Sigrid couldn't believe her luck. She didn't even know there were any other farmers, and she just picked a name out of her mind.

"At one and a half, not only are your pears at the least disagreeable price, they are the most delicious as well!" she said. Still, he looked on the fence, so she took the initiative, plopping down one pouch of herbs and another smaller one, and nabbing a pear. Best not let him think too much. "A pleasure buying from you," she said, flashing him a wide grin. "How's that?" she asked Mildemaer, tossing the large, ripe pear in her hands. "Fancy some pears for breakfast?"