The heavy iron-reinforced carriage sat motionless in the rutted dirt of the alleyway.
For twenty hours, the black vehicle had not moved an inch. The four masked drivers atop the bench had remained as stiff as carved oak posts.
Inside the courtyard, Kaelen Vance had not left his hammock.
When the governor of an entire prefecture parks outside your garden fence, rushing out to unlatch the gate only ruins your digestion. A high official could wait until the tea kettle boiled.
Morning light filtered through the cedar eaves, warming Kaelen’s wool blanket.
Beneath his eyelids, the charcoal slate chimed softly with the dawn.
[The Fallow Slate]
[Stage 2: Tri-Track Accumulation]
