The pilot rope landed short.
It struck the far bank, slid between two stones and fell into the ravine with a slow, graceful motion that made everyone watching dislike it.
Lurset lowered the throwing frame.
“Again.”
Her assistant began winding the line back. It came up wet at the end, darkened by the river below.
Iven stood beside the new anchor marks and watched the wind move through the gap.
Thirty-eight meters of empty air separated the proposed loading seats. From the upper grass, the ravine had looked narrow enough to dismiss with a line on a drawing. Down here, the opposite face carried a whole collection of reasons not to fall.
Neri crouched over the section board behind him. Tosk held one corner against the wind while Olla checked the new seat marks against the sound rock she had found beneath the cap.
