At sunrise on Day One Hundred and Thirty-Four, the subalpine spur below Windpit was swept by a thin, sharp frost that turned the needles of the dwarfed larch trees into brittle white filigree.
Kezra Venn stood beside the newly erected sighting bench at Relay Station Two, her brass sighting tube clamped into the stone V-groove pointing up toward Station One on the high watching crest. Three miles to the north-east, perched like an eagle’s eyrie on the razor-backed amphibolite arête, Garr and Timon had already mounted their signaling frame. The first golden rays of dawn struck the bronze mirror on the crest. It sent a steady, dazzling needle of reflected light down through the clear mountain air into Kezra’s lens.
Beside her, Drover Bren and his three leftover Saltglass drovers—Milo, Kester, and Old Dan—stood in their heavy sheepskin coats, stamping their boots against the cold granite flat stone slabs. On the camp table lay the three spare pine frames Fellis Dain had built. Their blackened linen silhouettes waited for the morning drill.
“Before we signal Station One to begin the test,” Kezra said, turning to face the four drovers, “we review the vocabulary of this mountain. Why did Fellis design four shapes instead of twenty?”
