The market arrived before its road did.
Iven saw the bright awnings first, moving beyond the low ridge while their own wagons waited at Reed End. Red cloth, blue cloth, a long yellow strip that lifted above the others and settled again. For a moment he tried to fit the motion to a boat traveling behind the hill.
Then the sensory crown rose.
The Marcher came slowly around the ridge’s open side, following the broad low ground while its human market stood on two stable terraces near the forward saddle. Not a city. A few dozen lightweight shelters, narrow covered paths, ballast frames and a high mast from which the yellow signal streamed.
Pera stood beside him.
“Clear-After-Rain,” she said. “Or something nearer a change in the light than I can put into that name.”
“You know it?”
“I know the market. The body decides where it goes next.”
