The leg-breakers were always concealed in innocent-seeming nestles of weeds and high grass. Who knew what boggarts and speakies might lurk down its dark throat?Īnd the worst holes weren't out where a man (or a mule) could see them. Son of a Bitch sat on what the old folks called 'loose ground.' It was consequently possessed of almost as many holes as rocks, not to mention at least one cave that puffed out draughts of nasty, decay-smelling air. Yer-bugger, plenty o' them, and you couldn't burn holes, could you? No.

They had found the nest (well, Andy had found it Andy wasn't bothered by wasps no matter how big they were) and burned it with kerosene, but there might be others. He had come running back to the home place, screaming at the top of his lungs and pursued by huge mutie wasps with stingers the size of nails. One of Tian's uncles had almost met this latter fate some years before. This chore was easier spoken of than accomplished.Ĭlan Jaffords was blessed with livestock, including three mules, but a man would be mad to try using a mule out in Son of a Bitch the beast unlucky enough to draw such duty would likely be lying legbroke or stung to death by noon of the first day. All that remained before planting next year was to break ground in Son of a Bitch. He'd gotten hold of a thousand seeds (and a dear penny they had cost him) that were now hidden beneath the floorboards of his bedroom. Of course madrigal would grow in Son of a Bitch. Tian's Ma had been equally positive it would grow porin, a spice of great worth.

Tian wasn't the first Jaffords determined to make something of the twenty acres behind the home place his Gran-pere, perfectly sane in most other respects, had been convinced there was gold there. Tian was blessed (though few farmers would have used such a word) with three patches: River Field, where his family had grown rice since time out of mind Roadside Field, where ka-Jaffords had grown sharproot, pumpkin, and corn for those same long years and generations and Son of a Bitch, a thankless tract which mostly grew rocks, blisters, and busted hopes.

Wolves of the calla frank muller