As if nature had not punished Sonre enough for his efforts, Sonre’s crops always yielded half of what Haru’s fields yielded. Upset, frustrated, and furlong, Sonre devised a plan in which he could get what was due to him. When nightfall arrived, Sonre descended to the valley where Haru’s land settled. Cloaked in a dark linen cape and with a sack, Sonre gathered the plump yams that mocked him each day. He replaced them with the thinner, blemished yams from his own fields. With only a few good yams remaining, Sonre was sure that Haru would not become suspicious.