Crow’s Oak is an oak that has been told it is a signpost.

Cross cut in the bark, old. A well that is not Saint Elswith’s but will do for a mouth. Half a walking day from Holmewell if the weather is a friend. Thatcham is behind you, a morning you already spent.

Hop wants to run. Jennet does not let the marsh be a game. The marsh is north, reed-colored, a shortcut in other people’s mouths.

Aelric: “List says the oak, then the tower, then the basin. List does not say reeds.”

You can feel the last miles like a string.

Thatcham is behind: a morning of hedges, Mab’s barn a possibility you may already have used or not. Crow’s Oak is a meeting of list and tree. The well here is ordinary and therefore precious. Marsh north of the oak is a green lie with birds on it.