It was a muggy summer afternoon when the shaman came to the Pekas orchard. Seyna was tending the flowers in front of the house, pulling resilient weeds from the snapdragons, while her father Yuvelo went to the end-of-week market in town; her other father Chiela had stayed home and was idly strumming his guitar on the front porch. The sound helped Seyna focus on her work; without some sort of reminder, she was liable to begin daydreaming and start pulling out the flowers instead.

    When her father’s guitar slowed to a stop, Seyna looked up at him from her work, wiping sweat from her brow before it could drip into her eyes. “Something up, Pa?” she asked, right hand straying towards the hatchet at her belt.

    “We’ve got a visitor,” Chiela said calmly, indicating the gate with the neck of his guitar. Seyna swiveled to look, and was startled out of her general defensive attitude. At the front of the orchard gate stood a tall, willowy person in the blue-and-white robes of a shaman, one of the holy folk who were said to commune with the ancestors. “Why don’t you go see what they want?”

    Seyna practically leapt at the opportunity. Not many strangers came through Fairmill, and even fewer shamans. She straightened up and wiped her hands off on the rag tucked into the rear pocket of her trousers, then strode over to the gate. The shaman seemed distracted, reading their signpost rather fixedly, and didn’t notice Seyna until she was just across the fence from her.

    “Greetings, sinjer Shaman,” she addressed them, smiling her politest smile. “This is the Pekas pecan orchard. What can we do for you this day?” The shaman didn’t answer right away, taking their time to study Seyna with their river-blue eyes. After a moment, they lowered their hood, revealing olive skin and dark brown hair. Seyna felt her heart beat a little faster.

    The shaman inclined their head slightly, out of politeness and to get closer to eye level. “Would you good people be so kind as to give me room and board for a few days?” they asked. Their voice was slow and gentle, each word said deliberately. “I’ve been traveling for quite some time, and although I haven’t money to pay for my stay, I would be glad to bless your crop and home.”

    Seyna took a moment to find her voice again, marveling at how taken she was with this stranger. “I think that would be fine,” she said. “I should ask my father though, do you mind?” She indicated Chiela, still sitting on the front porch and watching the shaman carefully. When the shaman nodded, Seyna indicated for them to wait, and she jogged back to her father. “They want to stay with us for a few days,” she explained. “They said they don’t have any coin but they can bless our crop and home.”

    Chiela hummed and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Seems like a fine idea to me,” he said. “If your Da says no when he gets home, we can easily overrule him.” He chuckled at the delight in Seyna’s eyes. “Go on and invite ’em in.”

    Seyna darted back to the front gate, unlocking and opening it for the shaman. “Pa says you’re welcome to stay,” she said, watching them enter. “Why don’t you come on inside? It’s gotta be cooler than this weather.”

    The shaman bowed again, delicately. “That would be lovely, miss..?”

    “Seyna Pekas,” she introduced herself. “Just Seyna--no miss anything, if you please.”

    “Seyna,” they repeated, smiling slightly. “I shall take care to remember it.”