It’s not magic, not really. It’s just a little knack is all. It lets her know which dogs will bite, which horses kick, which way the hare would dodge when she shot. It kept her fed in the country and safe in the towns, but it wasn’t magic.

Magic was for wizards, dressed in the deep deep blues you couldn’t get from dye alone. Everything turned blue around wizards, if it stayed long enough. Hair, fur, fabric, even trees. You could tell where a wizard lived, easily enough, and that proved she wasn’t one. Proved it wasn’t magic.

And if old Mutt was just a shade more blue-ticked than most hounds, or if Bess was more of a blue-roan than most horses, it was just coincidence. Wizards had too many rules to tie them down, and there was no way Heather was going to be a wizard.