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Green potato leaves dripped from a recent shower and the earth was dark brown, almost black. Stray strands of grass poked up from the earth, they would soon be pulled out and discarded for mulch or compost. There was noise ahead. Angry voices, accusations. It reminded Maddox of past baseless accusations and of torches and pitchorks. He paused to look towards the sound and chew on his lower lip from indecision. It really wasn't his place to intervene. Maddox did not know this area, didn't even know the name of the nearest town or village. He was simply passing through. Let death and life, and hate and compassion wheel from one to another without intervention. Or not. Maddox grimaced at himself and strode off towards the sound. He didn't pick his crossbow from his back, or unhook his mace from his belt. A group of farmers ought to recognise that Maddox was someone of ability and means. Though the full extent of his ability would not be visible. Maddox launched himself over a fence and finally saw a knot of farmers, their woolen tunics were not thin and ragged. The farmers themselves appeared well fed. Maddox lengthened his stride to see who had earned their ire.