The wind arrived from the wrong quarter just after noon.
Chaska had the third stake half turned when the new gust struck. One fence bowed; the lower lashing creaked. Dust lifted from the quarry floor and rolled beneath the nearest overhang in a solid white sheet.
The young drake disappeared.
Ysabet heard its breath fail. The little wheeze she had learned to recognize became a dry, intermittent knock.
“Close the second gap,” she called.
Chaska hauled the turning cord. Ashaun leaned her weight against the fence support while Gevren retied the lower line. Suth crouched by the root anchor, checking that no fresh pull had reached the cloak.
Pip rose.
It had spent the morning beside the mouse box, mostly sleeping. Honey lay thick and warm inside it; the hollow folds had begun to fill out again. Now those folds tightened. Its injured throat stretched toward the quarry.
