The wall was finished at dawn. It stood six feet high. Three feet thick. Made of grey rock bonded with sand and shell dust. It curved around the settlement like a cupped hand. Ezra ran his hand along the top. The stone was warm. Not from the sun. From within. The heat of the earth seeped through the mortar. It hummed against his palm.
"Looks solid," Varen said. He stood behind Ezra. He held a rifle. The stock was worn smooth. "Will it stop bullets?"
"Depends on the bullet," Ezra said. He didn't turn around. He looked at the sea. The horizon was empty. Grey water. Grey sky. "But it stops the wind. It stops the cold. That's enough."
"Hales won't care about the cold," Varen said. "He cares about the heat."
"Then let him try to take it," Ezra said. He dropped his hand. The stone felt like
