Dream d1723-s: Timber, Measured and True

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where the noon sun threw no shadows worth speaking of, the light coming flat and hard off the rooftops of Quillgreen, and I was shoulder-deep in the work before I had time to think about it.

The Lamplighter had set us to the testing grounds at the edge of the village: a cleared strip of packed earth with stakes driven at measured intervals, targets painted on split timber, and a rack of tools that had clearly seen recent use - the handles worn bright, the blades clean. Footprints crossed the mud in patterns that made the Builder crouch and trace them with one finger, not reading damage but reading purpose.

"Someone's been running drills," she said, not to anyone in particular. "See how the spacing tightens here? They're improving."

Rurik sat at the edge of the rack and said nothing, which with him is as much commentary as most cats manage in a morning.

The Weather Reader had her instruments out but she was also carrying timber ends, passing boards to whoever needed them. I asked her once if she was getting readings and she shrugged without stopping. "Pressure's been steady since yesterday. Either the place is relaxed or it's holding its breath. Hard to tell yet."

Lano moved along the stakes, nose to the ground, tail going at her own private rhythm. She stopped at one target board, sat, and looked back at me with her ears at that angle that means she has found something interesting but considers it mine to interpret.

I crouched beside her. The board had been re-hung recently - the nail holes told that story, the old holes dark with rust and the new ones bright. Someone had moved the target closer. Not by much. The right amount.

The Lamplighter came across the yard with two cups and handed one to the Builder. "You're quiet workers," he said. "Most people who come through have a lot of advice."

"We read before we advise," the Builder said. She took a sip and went back to measuring.

I wrote that in the book: day 3, testing grounds, the targets moved closer by careful degrees, the cups passed without ceremony. There is a specific trust that comes from handling the same tools as the people you are trying to understand, from getting sawdust on your sleeves and not explaining yourself.

By mid-afternoon the work had a sound - the rhythm of it, hammers going and stopping and going again, Lano occasional and content in the middle distance.

Rurik had moved to the nearest stake. He stood there with his amber eyes forward, marking something I couldn't yet name.