Kessa put her boot on the white stone before the lead wagon reached it.
The driver pulled up hard enough to make his harness bells complain.
“Move, please.”
“No.”
He stared at her boot, then at her face, plainly hoping one of them would become more reasonable.
“I have a route instruction.”
“So do I. Mine’s painted on the ground.”
The convoy escort came forward with the folded military survey. Behind him waited two light wagons, a heavier covered load and three people whose expressions suggested they had already lost more of the afternoon than they could afford.
