"... I think maybe we need to revise that law. That's not really clear," they comment.

"But was Ganemki es-, uh, es-tranged? Or was he normal?"

"When two people are 'estranged', it means that they don't like each other, and have formally given up the bonds that would otherwise tie them together," Penþa explains. "And even though Ganemki lived in the village, not with his mother, they weren't estranged. He went to visit her frequently, and they were on good terms."

"So ... did Doneg have a spouse?" one of the children asks, working through it.

"She did not. Her wife had died two years previously, actually," Penþa answers.

"Well, then why wouldn't it have been okay for Koralhi to give the blanket to Ganemki?" they ask. "If the law is that it goes to her children, and he's her child?"

"Well, what do you think? Is that your final answer, that it was okay for Koralhi to give Ganemki the blanket? Or do you think there's more to know?" Penþa questions.

"Why do things get given to householders first, before going to the rest of the village?" Daskal asks.

"Ah, good question. The reasoning is not, unfortunately, included in the law. Later organizers tasked with interpreting the law have generally held that the idea is that your things should go to people you choose to associate more closely with — which is why spouses are ranked higher on the list than parents or children," Penþa explains. "Does that matter in this case?"

"Well, yeah. If Doneg was closer to her, because she lived in the same house ..." Daskal begins.

Another child interrupts.

"But lots of people have brothers! Even if it wasn't written down, what does the organizer do when they're recording debts?"

"You mean when the organizer is recording inherited debts, who they give the debt to?" Penþa clarifies.

"Yeah."

"Traditionally, the organizer splits the debts between everyone in a category. So if Doneg had been owed six eggs, then þoni and Ganemki would both be owed three," Penþa explains.

"... well, that should probably get actually written into the law," the same villager as before murmurs to their neighbor.

"So if it was the deal for the blanket they inherited, shouldn't they each get half of it?"

"Well, there was only one blanket. And remember, this is a baby blanket — it would not be nearly as useful, if it was cut in half. That would just make everyone worse off."

"But ..."

Andresi frowns, but can't quite articulate his point.

The adults seem to have clued in, to what the solution in the story is going to be, but they stay silent so that the children can think a bit longer.

"Ganemki could pay þoni for the blanket!" Daskal announces. "They can't split the blanket, but if Ganemki got the blanket and þoni got half the value of the blanket, then everything would be fair, wouldn't it?"

Penþa nods.

"That's one solution," they agree. "How much would you have Ganemki pay?"

"Um. Half the blanket's value?" Daskal repeats, a bit confused.

"Sorry, let me rephrase: how much is that? Remember, þoni thought the blanket was worth less than Doneg paid for it. Doneg clearly thought it was worth that much, as did Koralhi. So would it be fair to make Ganemki pay more than his sister thought half of it was worth?"

Daskal thinks through it.

"... well, þoni thought she should get the whole blanket. So if she only gets the worth of half of it ... no, half of what Ganemki thinks the worth is, that might be more than she thought it was worth, and she should be happy. Or it might be less than she thought it was worth, and she wouldn't be satisfied. But Ganemki would like either of them less than just having the blanket ..."

"... it's not about the blanket," one child realizes. "þoni doesn't really want the blanket — she doesn't need it. She's just sad because her mother died, and she's angry about it."