The warning flag turned brown before the sky did.
Iven saw it from the old vent yard east of Bracken Weir. A worker on the weather platform hauled the bright yellow strip down, tied a darker one to the line and raised it halfway. Farther along the ridge, another platform answered.
Nyla shut her instrument box.
“We leave the lower yard.”
No debate. No suggestion that a dry afternoon could not become dangerous because the map called the road safe.
Maret’s crew had already begun moving.
They had brought Iven and Neri to inspect the old yard’s storage foundations. A future repair camp might use the place, but only if its buried drains remained open and the high refuge could hold the intended crew. The visit had been practical and quiet until the flag changed.
Now the wind carried a pale line above the western flats.
