Neri rejected the first material yard before anyone put a stake in it.
It was flat, close to the channel and large enough for the whole foundation stock. It was also the place a Marcher’s sensory fringe had left fresh grooves in the mud. Moving the stock there would turn a water approach into a human storage claim, no matter how temporary the drawing called it.
Maret looked at the upper alternative.
“Longer carry.”
“Yes.”
“More hands.”
“Yes.”
The foreman took his pencil from behind his ear.
