Neri heard the roof cloth change before the flag rose.
It had been snapping lightly all morning, a loose edge against a finished frame. Now the sound drew tight and low. The hairs along her forearms lifted. Beyond the western ridge, a bank of gray had begun swallowing the pale sky.
She put down her gauge.
“Stop lifting,” she called.
Oren lowered his end of the unfinished roof spar. Anja looked toward the flag tower, saw the first warning board swing into place and helped set the spar onto its padded supports. Nobody argued for finishing one more fitting with a suspended load between them.
Neri walked the row, checking which crews had heard.
The completed shelters carried their own anchored covers. The unfinished work was another matter: cloth folded over frames, loose boards stacked for the next shift, a spare ladder leaning where the wind could give it ideas. She sent two workers along the higher lane to secure the ladders and called for the loose cloth to come down.
“We can get this corner on,” one carpenter said.
