Hans stood above the western frame while fifty hounds pushed through the irrigation grass below him.
Hajin stopped twenty paces behind the barricade while the barn doors yawned open beside the road into their gate's flank. Timber and hay filled the storage, and the spelt beneath its loft dragged the pack straight toward Brant's waiting trap.
Cassie settled her buckler beside the cart lane instead of planting it across the barn's entrance.
"They smell the spelt," she warned, watching the first snouts lift above the grass, "and if they climb those eaves, they jump our parapet without ever touching the ditch."
Hans pointed his rod through the doorway that Brant's crew left gaping, "We aren't keeping the barn."
"We're giving them a reason to walk inside before climbing starts sounding easier."
"Hold on, you're just handing those mutts the whole damn barn?" Hajin blurted, jabbing a thumb at the open doors.
"Lending it, my lord."
