“Put them on backwards,” she snaps. “Eh?” he says. She gives him a silver coin from her pocket. “Backwards,” she says. “Put them on backwards. Hurry. A couple of nails to each shoe.” To me she says: “If they want to follow me, they will have no tracks. They will see only the horses coming here, they won’t realize I was going away.” I realize I am staring at her, the queen of my vision, who had her horseshoes on backwards.
