Morwen glanced down. Below Killer's front hooves, a double hand-span of grass and clover had been trimmed several inches below the surrounding meadow. "So I see. How did you manage it?"
"Well, if I kneel down and stretch way out-"
"Excuse me, ma'am," said the man in the overalls, setting his bucket at his feet, "but if this ain't your donkey, whose is it?"
"He doesn't belong to anyone in particular," Morwen said. "And he's not actually a donkey. Why?"
The man in the overall, who had begun uncoiling the length of rope, paused. "Not a donkey, eh?" He studied Killer intently for a moment.
"Blue's kind of an unusual color for a donkey."
"What's he getting at, Morwen?" Killer's ears waggled nervously.
"Quiet, Killer," Morwen said.
"And I got to admit that donkeys don't normally talk much," the man added. "So what is he? Enchanted prince? Knight? Circus sideshow performer?"
"Rabbit," Morwen said. 'Judging from his behavior, a permanently hungry rabbit."
"Huh." The man in the overalls eyed Killer speculatively. "A rabbit named Killer. Amazing, the things people come up with. How'd he end up a blue donkey?"
"It's a long story," Morwen said. "Killer, why don't you go back to the others?"
"But what about the clover? I was just getting started. And it's different-not so crunchy, and not as sweet, and there's sort of a cinnamon undertaste that-" "Not now, Killer. Go let the others know what's happening."
"Oh, all right." Muttering sullenly, Killer started back around the hill.
"What's this about others?" demanded the man in the overalls as Morwen turned back to him. "How many of you are there?"
"Seven, altogether," Morwen said.
"There are seven of you trampling across my fields and mining the harvest?" the farmer asked, plainly appalled.
"Not exactly. Killer couldn't trample anything right now if he tried, and the rest of us haven't moved around much."
The farmer shook his head. "It was bad enough having that donkey or rabbit or whatever eating up my crops, but this! I want the lot of you out, right now."
"Crops?" Morwen looked pointedly to the left, then to the right, then raised her chin and stared directly at the man in the overalls. "Grass and clover?"
"Hay," the man said, unperturbed.
"Hey what?" said Cimorene's voice. "Morwen, who is this and what is going on? Killer said something about trespassers, but then he got into an argument with your cats, and it's a little hard to follow when you can't understand half of the conversation."
"This appears to be the man who owns this hill," Morwen said.
"Name of MacDonald, ma'am," the man said, nodding politely. "And this is my farm, and I'd appreciate it if you'd take your friend and your donkey and your cats elsewhere."
"I'm Cimorene, the Queen of the Enchanted Forest," Cimorene said.
"Pleased to meet you, Farmer MacDonald. And we'll be leaving just as soon as our magician recovers a bit more. I'm sorry if we've caused a problem."
"Queen, eh?" MacDonald's eyes narrowed speculatively. "Little unusual to find a queen out adventuring. Mostly it's princes and younger sons, and once in a while a princess."
"So I'm unusual," Cimorene said.
"I wasn't criticizing," MacDonald said peaceably. "I just wondered if you'd be in the market for some vegetables."
"Vegetables? Why would I-" "I got a full line of specialty crops," the farmer went on. "My peas are perfectly round, and hard as rock. I sell them by the bag if you want to scatter them on the floor for maidens disguised as huntsmen to walk on, or you can buy one at a time for sticking under the mattress of a visiting princess."
"I don't think I-" "Then there's straw, first quality, for spinning into gold. I can deliver as much as you want, on a regular schedule.
I grow four kinds of grain-oats, barley, millet, and wheat-on the same plants, so it's harvested premixed.
I sell it by the bushel, to people who want to test someone by making them sort out the different kinds. And beans, naturally. I got the kind that jump and the kind that grow giant stalks. I've got apples, poisoned or gold, in several varieties; extra-large pumpkins for turning into coaches; and walnuts with anything you want inside, from a miniature dog to a dress as shining as the stars."
"I appreciate the offer," Cimorene said, "but I don't think I need any of those things."
"You wouldn't happen to have any invisible dusk-blooming chokevines, would you?" Morwen asked.
"No, I don't grow ornamentals," MacDonald replied. "I stick to vegetables, fruit, and nuts. Farm things. I'm hoping to branch out into livestock soon."
Cimorene blinked. "What sort of livestock?"
"Oh, little dogs that laugh, winged horses, geese that lay golden eggs, that sort of thing. That's why I'm growing hay." The farmer waved at the hillside. "I want to have it on hand when the horses arrive."
"It's not enchanted hay, is it?" Morwen asked with sudden misgiving.
"Not exactly. Why?"Enchantments." Nothing seemed to have happened yet, though. At least, Morwen hadn't heard any horrified braying since Killer disappeared over the hill.
Perhaps it would be all right.
MacDonald shrugged. "I use enchanted fertilizer to help it grow, but the hay itself is nothing special. Winged horses eat pretty much the same thing as regular horses, plus a little birdseed."
"You sound as if you've thought about it quite a bit," Cimorene said.
"Had to," MacDonald said, nodding. "This farm's been in the family for a long time, but I couldn't make a living running it the way my dad did.
Here a horse, there a pig-that just doesn't work anymore. These days, you have to have a plan. So I decided to specialize. Sure you don't need anything?"
"Not right now," Cimorene said, "but I'll keep you in mind."
"Thanks." The farmer hesitated. "About that blue donkey-" "He isn't a donkey," Morwen reminded him. "He's an enchanted rabbit."
"Oh, that's right. Pity. He'd make an interesting start at stocking the barnyard." Fingering his rope thoughtfully, MacDonald stared off in the direction Killer had taken.
"I don't think you'd want him," Cimorene said. "He doesn't seem to be good for much."