The autumn light turned to liquid bronze as the late afternoon sun descended toward the sharp blue profile of the western peaks. Across the clearing, the skeletal wooden frame of the new homestead was beginning to take definitive shape. The heavy oak joists were securely locked into the notch beds along the granite foundation, forming a sturdy, level floor frame that smelled cleanly of freshly sawn wood and rich pine resin.
Away from the high limestone spires of the citadel and the constant, demanding friction of continental statecraft, the days possessed a steady, unhurried rhythm. The open ledgers and political negotiations were left behind in the capital, replaced by the simple, tangible satisfaction of physical progress achieved through honest labor.
I stood on the far corner of the
