With the proof walk completed and the nonstop route sealed in her boots, Kezra Venn wasted no time. The afternoon sun was already beginning its descent toward the western ridges. It cast long, sharp shadows of the upper crags across the shelter terrace.
She took her cold-chisel and her four-pound iron hammer from her belt pouch. She stepped to the four corners of the sixteen-pace working yard. She chose four level, unfractured outcroppings of living limestone situated exactly two paces outside the surveyed boundary.
At each point, she knelt on the crushed shale and drove three deep, three-sided grooves into the stone. The indelible signed name of an outside corner anchor. The chisel bit into the rock with crisp, ringing blows: clink... Clink... Clink.
The third mark was cleaned of stone dust. Then, Fellis stood beside the transit frame, raised his uninjured right arm. Then he held up the double-barred wooden paddle. The universal sign that all sounding rods were stowed, all measurements were checked. The parcel was cleared for binding.
Kezra pulled her bonded survey notebook from its waxed inner coat cover.
The book felt heavy, warm, and electric against her fingertips. She opened the stiff cowhide binding to the live site register.
