Mara’s first sight of Stonewake was mostly wheels.
They stood in rows beneath the lower receiving roofs, turned against blocks while crews changed loads, descended empty on platforms and waited under wagons whose drivers looked as tired as her own. Above the yard, the main ravine lift carried a timber-framed load toward the plateau.
There were roofs beyond it.
A great many roofs.
“Your brother owes you an apology,” she told the young driver beside her.
He looked up at the town.
“Some tents.”
“Some.”
