A Slow Morning

The yard's dead this morning — no deliveries booked until one. Arla's doing the accounts for the fuel side of the business at the register. You're meant to be restocking the shelf of wormers and checking the bulletin board for anything past its date.

The bell over the door goes. It's Fenn Ashby, who farms up past the old mill and comes in most Tuesdays whether he needs anything or not.

Fenn doesn't come to the counter straight away. He looks at the bulletin board instead.