Illandra squinted at the 8 black pieces and groaned. She would normally never perform the final counterfeit check but word in the village was that Gengrassen was spending his nights cutting ogre dung through his coins, the weight remained the same but the metal would crumble within 3 moons. There was only one sure way to know, and she couldn’t afford to be caught unawares. With a deep breath she leaned forward and stuck out her tongue. And again. And again.

“Oh thank the heavens,” she cried with glee. She would allow another sweeper to pilfer her contract with the cobbler, licking for counterfeit was not worth the 8 extra pieces of black each month. She would find a way to make do without it: cut back on the turnips, buy some hens instead of the goat she wanted, because one day she would indeed be the recipient of one of Gengrassen’s altered coins.