Time did what it always does.
It changed faces. It changed tools. It changed the shape of the village roofs and the way stone was cut at the quarry.
It did not change the line.
There were years of plenty. Trade increased. Roads improved. The village grew known for the quality of its stone and the steadiness of its people.
There were also years of strain. Storms tore through the region. Once, an earthquake shifted part of the ridge and sent rock sliding toward the water.
For a few tense hours, the boundary markers were buried.
No one waited to see what would happen.
They worked together, clearing stone carefully, restoring the markers exactly where they had been. Not farther back. Not farther forward.
When the last stone was set upright again, the water settled.
No surge.
No withdrawal.
Just stillness.
The lesson remained the same. The line did not defend itself. The people did.
