He turned red. “Kexis started it—”

“Please,” Uzfan said, raising his hands. “Desist this bickering. There are other matters before us. These fine pelts, for instance. Draysinko, you should examine them for an estimate of their worth.”

“Yes, I am the expert in such matters,” Draysinko boasted, puffing out his narrow chest. The weaver bowed jerkily to the priest and went over to the donkey. By then, Kexis had unloaded the animal. He stepped back at Draysinko’s approach, casting a look of appeal at Alexeika. She shook her head and gestured for him to go home. Reluctantly, Kexis obeyed her.

“Uzfan,” she said, but the old priest gave her a swift look of warning. Fuming, she held her tongue. Draysinko’s words ran through her mind, rasping her like rough stone. She wanted to flay him for his impertinence, but his insults to her were insignificant compared with his actions. Shirking his duty. Undoubtedly persuading the others to abandon their duty as well. And then striking Kexis like that. He was a coward, braggart, and troublemaker whom she wished she could drive from the camp.

“It is late. Alexeika, you are no doubt tired from your hard work,” Uzfan said.  His gaze traveled past her to the silent boys and the wealth of pelts spread across the ground.

Some of the women crept closer, murmuring in admiration.  “This shows hard work indeed,” Uzfan said, and the women clapped. He smiled at Alexeika. “Your traps have yielded well.”

“Aye,” she said, tossing her head with pride. “They have.” Draysinko knelt to examine the pelts. His beady eyes brightened, and his face shone with excited avarice.

Watching him, Alexeika felt her suspicions return. Did he think she was going to entrust him with the furs at this year’s market? Her father had been more tolerant of Draysinko’s shortcomings than Alexeika was prepared to be.  “I did not expect so many pelts,” Draysinko said, stroking the furs with his hands. “Very good. Very, very good.”

Alexeika ignored him and met Uzfan’s gaze. The old, defrocked priest looked more troubled than ever.

“We must talk,” he said in a low voice.

“Aye,” she agreed grimly. Her anger remained with her, steaming and simmering.  Wearily she shrugged off her burden of pelts, and when Vlad added them to the pile, Draysinko caressed them and made little noises of admiration.  He disgusted her, and she turned her back on him.