The fields are laid out in an old pattern that predates every institution in Old Barovia. Twelve rays, radiating from a center point that lies just south of the fence-line, in a spot where nothing has ever been built. The pattern matches the mosaic beneath the Cathedral of First Light in Zaleskiy Gorod — a mosaic no one alive in Old Barovia has ever seen. The soil is fine and the water is fine and the light, such as it is, is not less than in any other Barovian valley. Nothing grows well anyway. Alena says the ground itself is tired. The crows on the fence-posts agree; they are always there, and they always watch, and they never take the corn.

Beyond the last houses the ground opens into the common fields. Barley in one patch, potatoes in another, cabbage rotting in a third. Crows on the fence-posts, watching. In the distance the tree line begins, and beyond that, the Svalich Woods.

Sensory

• Turned earth, rotting cabbage, distant pine
• Crows — always crows, always watching
• Wind stronger here than in the village — nothing to break it