Darion and Garren arrived at the farmlands to the sight of the wagons already there. Lots of timber. Piles of it stacked along the edge of the field, the raw wood still pale and fresh, smelling of sap and forest. The wagons were large, heavy things, their wheels sunk slightly into the soft earth from the weight of their loads.

The people were just offloading the lasts of the woods and timbers from the wagons and whatever they had brought with them. Men in rough clothes carried planks and beams from the wagons to the designated storage area.

Some worked in pairs, others hauled smaller pieces alone. The carpenters directed the flow, pointing here, gesturing there, making sure the materials were organized in a way that made sense for the upcoming construction.

Darion unmounted his horse and tied it to a fence that looked like it wouldn’t fall the moment the horse decided to pull free and just run away. He tugged the knot twice, checking it was secure. The horse snorted and shifted its weight but didn’t test the fence. Good.

He turned and looked at the scene.

He was pleased with the sight. At the other end of the farmlands, the farmers were farming as usual. The farming still went on, there were still places that needed tending, crops that needed watering, soil that needed turning and seeds that needed planting .

And so the farmers still came to work daily. They moved through the distant fields in small groups, their forms small against the vast stretch of land. Some carried tools. Others bent over rows of green shoots that Seren’s work had brought back to life.

Darion focused back on the reconstruction. As he and Garren entered the place, he scanned the scene more carefully. The main carpenters, the real ones, not the laborers who were also labeled "carpenters", supervised that the timbers and all that be kept to the side and organized properly.

They moved among the piles, checking the quality of the wood, marking pieces that would be used for structural support versus those that would be used for fencing. The laborers did the heavy lifting. The carpenters did the thinking. That was the way it worked.

Darion spotted Seren with her arms folded, standing near the center of the activity like she was in charge. Her posture was relaxed but alert, her eyes tracking the movement of the workers, the placement of the timber, the flow of the operation. She looked like she belonged there. Like she had been supervising construction projects her whole life.

But she wasn’t the one in charge. The real ones, the main carpenters, were the ones who gave the orders. The laborers listened to them. The timber was stacked where they said to stack it. The measurements were taken where they said to take them. Seren was just watching and observing.

Now the offloaders began to leave. Their job was done. The wagons were empty. The timber was all on the ground, organized and ready. The men climbed back onto their wagons, gathered their ropes and tools, and began the slow ride back toward the market.

The carpenters greeted Darion as soon as they saw him. They straightened, touched their foreheads, and murmured respectful words. Seren looked at him and said:

"Afternoon, Baron."

Darion replied to them all with nods and a small wave. Then he squinted as he looked at the sky. The sun was still high, but it had started its slow descent toward the horizon. There was still time. Hours, maybe. Not the whole day, but enough to get something done.

They had decided to start the work today, as early as possible. But the time they bought the timbers and the time they returned to start the rebuilding, it was already afternoon.

And this wasn’t like early afternoon. Instead, this was late in the afternoon. The sun had already begun its slow descent toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the farmland. If they started now, the work could well take them into the night. And would they be able to be effective and do it good in the dark? Working by torchlight was slower and more dangerous, more prone to mistakes. A poorly placed post in the dark could mean a collapsed fence in the morning.

So they would still be starting now, even though the sun was well up in the sky and was beating down on this place like crazy. The heat was intense, the kind that made sweat drip down your back and your throat feel dry no matter how much water you drank.

The laborers were already wiping their foreheads with their sleeves. The carpenters had removed their outer tunics, working in just their undershirts.

When Darion had first arrived in Percvale, Garren had warned him that winter was near. That was what he had thought too, because the air felt colder in the mornings and there was a biting chill in the night that seeped through the castle’s thin walls and made the fireplaces seemingly work more. He had braced himself for snow, for freezing winds, for the kind of cold that made you question whether you would survive until spring.

But now, standing on the farmlands under the afternoon sun, that prediction seemed almost laughable.

The heat was intense, pressing down on him like a physical weight, making the air thick and heavy. Sweat dripped from his brow and soaked through the back of his tunic. Where was this heat coming from?

Maybe it was because winter was very, very, very near and the sun was doing its last intense shine before the cold that was capable of killing them all approached. Like a final burst of warmth before the freeze set in. A last gift before the harsh months ahead.

Or maybe the weather in this world was just unpredictable? Hot one day, freezing the next, with no logic to any of it. He didn’t know.

Wouldn’t the sun just make them weak? It would. It already was. Men moved slower in this heat. Their muscles tired faster. Their concentration wavered. Darion could see it in the way they carried the timbers: a little heavier, a little slower and a little more laborious than it would have been in the cool of the morning.

Darion thought on all this. He weighed the pros and cons. Start now and get a head start, even if the progress was slow. Or wait until tomorrow and begin fresh, with full energy and cooler weather.

Well... they would start anyway. Even if it was slow progress, they would really get into it tomorrow morning. And from that morning, Darion could truly judge the pace of the work. He could see if the current number of laborers was enough to complete the project in a reasonable time. If the work was too slow, he would know, he could see it with his own eyes, and he could decide whether to employ more laborers or just continue with what they had now.

"How was the trip?" Darion asked Seren as he got closer to her. She was still standing with her arms folded, watching the carpenters organize the timber piles.