I was feeling just a little smug the day my son came home. I was a new woman, years from Augustine and the Alps, and I had, after some considerable time and effort, perfected a healing balsam that actually healed. I had the recipe from a cattle doctor in the market who took a shine to me—he said loudly that it was my tits, but I think he truly liked me for who I was and felt abashed. Drover men are not supposed to suffer from tender emotions, especially not the old, wise ones. He’d have been laughed out of the camp circle if he admitted to being anything other than an erection on legs.