Kezra Venn pulled the rag sheet back across the tailboard, pinning the corners with the river pebbles.
She forced her mind away from the bitter, self-righteous sentences of Davren’s letter. Then she turned her attention entirely to the lower third of the paper.
Beneath the signed name and the first D.. It was drawn with the same fine quill point and dark oak-ink, ran a detailed pen-and-ink route sketch. It wasn’t a magical survey—it had no class warmth, no outer edge map points, and no binding borders. It was an ordinary scout’s field drawing, showing the northern approaches from the Hushwood timber margin into the high jagged barrier of the Spine.
In the written text above, Davren had described his return route with airy, easy confidence. The chimney route is practically settled... Only needs three dry weeks to walk.
Kezra pulled her brass magnifying glass from her coat pocket. She set the lens against her right eye. Then she leaned down until her nose was three inches from the rag paper.
“Look here, Fellis,” Kezra said. Her voice had shed its emotional tremor. She locked into the cold, careful care of an experienced land-mapper examining a disputed property boundary.
Fellis leaned in beside her. That brought his bone flat ruler and brass proportional dividers to the line.
