Fellis Dain pulled the iron sounding rods from the turf, wiped the blue clay from their four-sided shafts with an oiled rag. Then he slid them into their separate pockets inside the heavy canvas sheath. He buckled the two brass straps tight, slung the sheath onto his pack frame. Then he raised the double-barred alder paddle above his shoulder.
“Rods stowed!” Fellis called out, his voice ringing through the quiet clearing. “No iron in the dirt, Kezra!”
Kezra Venn knelt beside the northern granite uneven outside the firebreak trench.
The air in the charcoal clearing was utterly still, the green-gold shafts of subalpine sunlight shifting slowly across the black ash floor as the afternoon advanced. She unbuttoned her waxed coat, drew out the Bonded Survey Notebook. Then she smoothed the open cream rag paper across her knee.
She spoke the formal address aloud. Her voice carried the solemn, steady, unrushed pace of an approved Reach Mapmaker:
“Hushwood Margin Charcoal Hearth. Sixteen paces north-true, eight paces depth to ice-slow clay basement. Boundary clear of living root by circular firebreak trench. outer edge level checked within half a handspan. Outside anchors set: three of three.”
She laid the flat of her right palm across the paper.
