The morning sun broke clear over the eastern peaks, driving away the thick mountain frost that had silvered the tall grass of the valley floor overnight. The sharp, clean cold of late autumn filled my lungs with every breath, crisp and invigorating. Across the clearing, the solid granite foundation of the homestead stood gleaming in the early light, its sharp edges and level courses reflecting the pale gold of the new day.
Away from the high limestone spires of the citadel, the days possessed a steady, unhurried weight. The open ledgers and constant diplomatic friction were left behind in the capital, replaced by the simple, tangible satisfaction of work done with our own hands.
I walked along the perimeter of the foundation, checking the mortar lines that had cured overnight. The mixtur
