Hian steps outside after the evening meal, the sky dark with the final tints of the sunset shimmering in the sky. She goes past the beehives and kneels down by the orchard, gathering a few large rocks together. Then she drapes a cloth over them, takes out a small knife and nicks her finger. Eyes closed, she whispers the words. "My blood as an offering. A prayer for my journey. Successful trade and a safe return. And the good health of all here." She waits for a few moments, but there is no obvious response. That doesn't mean it hasn't worked. She is about to get up when she hears a voice from behind. "Aunt Hian? What are you doing?" Hian scowls.