“To stay safe, Wheat kept her true identity a secret. Always large, she had grown in girth through the years and doubted anyone would recall her as one of the Twelve. Only the contents of the felted backpack under her oilskin cloak or the two crystals knotted around the curl of her shepherd’s crook could give her away, if anyone were near enough or old enough to recognize these things. After her close encounter with the band of Lowlanders last fall had sent her scurry-ing to the western prairies, Wheat had not seen a
Middlelander or Northlander. Winter snow-storms soon blocked the migratory footpaths through the prairie. The shepherds in the Western Highlands seemed to have no knowledge of the Twelve or the fabled yarns. Even so, Wheat had dared to reveal nothing about herself to them. Magic was forbidden everywhere, even in the un-tamed west.”

--The Broken Circle: Yarns of the Knitting Witches