The funnel ring groaned as Naera twisted it into place.
The whole basin had become a mess of hands and mud. Naera braced herself, shifting her weight into her hips to counter the torque. Across from her, Lira barked another instruction, "Clockwise! No, your left!", and tried to jam a wedge under the opposite side. The bark mesh lining, now bloated from last night's rain, protested every adjustment like it had grown roots.
Beside them, Eloin muttered to himself as he ran his fingers along the join lines. "Too soft on this end. Should've packed thicker clay. I said thicker yesterday, "
"Your notes didn't say anything about overnight expansion," Lira snapped, voice tight.
Naera grinned, mud smudged across her cheek. "Can you two argue faster? My knee's sinking."
"Just hold it!" Lira braced again. "Almost, "
The bark mesh lining had swelled slightly from overnight rain, and now it resisted every push, creaking against the frame like a stubborn bone refusing to set. Mud slicked her wrists as she leaned into it, planting a knee against the clay basin rim while Lira anchored the other side.
"Bit more, hold it, " Lira grunted.
Naera gave one final shove, and the ring snapped in. A low, satisfying thunk echoed through the basin.
Across from them, Eloin released a breath. "That's it. Mesh is sealed. Structure's tight."
Luan passed over the binding reeds, hands steady but face unreadable. Fara took them without comment and knelt beside the basin to lash the funnel ring into place.
Raif stood just beyond the workspace, arms folded. He didn't speak, didn't offer direction. Just watched.
There was a time when he would've stepped in, when every misaligned angle or loose knot felt like a threat. But not today. He watched Fara wrap the lashings tight, watched Luan pass a tool before anyone had to ask. Watched Eloin and Lira bark and build in the same breath. He didn't need to steer it.
This was their build now, not his.
And it was working.
The final reed tightened, and Eloin gave a small nod. He stepped to the intake spout, took a gourd of clean water, and slowly poured it into the top of the funnel.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the water flowed, clean and steady, into the channel below.
No one cheered. But heads lifted. Shoulders dropped. Something invisible shifted.
They had built it.
The cistern worked.
For a moment, no one moved. The gourd drained completely, and the water didn't leak, didn't pool, it simply flowed. Cold and clean and quiet.
A few of them exchanged looks. Not smiles, exactly. But relief. Satisfaction. Lira rubbed at her temple and exhaled like she'd been holding her breath for hours. Eloin tapped the rim of the basin with his knuckles and gave a tight nod, not to anyone in particular.
Naera tilted her head, watching the channel catch the last of the runoff. "Would've been worse if we'd cut corners."
"We didn't," Raif said. "Not this time."
"Didn't think we'd get the reed line that tight," Lira said, stepping back and brushing her mud-streaked hands on her trousers. "Mesh usually slips in damp like this."
Naera leaned on her thigh, catching her breath. "Good thing we had you yelling about angle supports all morning."
"I wasn't yelling," Lira said with a mock frown. "I was firmly educating."
Fara, still crouched beside the funnel, looked up. "It held. That's what matters."
Eloin nodded, rubbing his shoulder. "It's not perfect, but nothing here is. Give it a day to settle, and we'll have stable water flow."
Raif approached slowly, offering Fara a hand up. She hesitated, then took it.
"You're getting good at this," he said.
"I learn fast," she replied.
Luan handed another strip of bark cord to Eloin. "We should double-bind the outflow tomorrow. Rain's due by dusk."
Eloin glanced at him, then gave a slow nod. "You're right. We'll pack in clay before that."
Naera stretched her arms over her head and smiled faintly. "First shelter, then fire pits, now this. We're starting to look like we belong here."
Raif didn't smile, but he looked around the basin, meeting each of their eyes. "We'll make sure of it."
The group began to drift apart, peeling away from the basin site in twos and threes. Goss lingered near the tools, packing them slowly into a woven basket. Nearby, Hennick was patting mud from his sleeves, but his eyes weren't on his hands , they kept flicking toward Luan, who was coiling up a length of spare cord, jaw tight and eyes set on the ground.
For a moment, Hennick hesitated. His fingers gripped the edge of the cloth a little too long. Luan hadn't looked at him once since they finished the build.
Still, Hennick stepped forward.
"Hey," he said quietly. "You got a minute?"
Luan didn't answer right away. He wiped his hands on a piece of bark cloth and turned, gaze steady. "Sure."
They walked a short distance toward the shade of a gnarled tree. The space between them felt thick , not with anger, but with everything unspoken. Luan's arms stayed crossed over his chest, his strides deliberate. Hennick walked a half-step behind, slower, more uncertain. Neither spoke for a few moments.
Hennick's boots dragged slightly through the soft earth. He remembered Luan as a boy who'd bounced on his heels while talking, always brimming with questions. Now the young man beside him was coiled tight, every movement guarded.
He wanted to say something, something that would pull them back to that simpler time. But no words came.
Hennick scratched the back of his neck. "I… I'm glad you're here, you know. Even if it's not the way I imagined."
Luan crossed his arms. "What way did you imagine?"
"I thought I'd be the one finding you. Not you showing up here. And I figured we'd, " Hennick paused. "Talk, I guess. Figure it out."
"You disappeared," Luan said, flat. "One day you were there, the next… gone. No word. Nothing."
"I didn't plan it. You think I wanted to vanish?"
"No," Luan said, voice quieter now. "But you did. I kept wondering if I messed something up. If I said the wrong thing. If that's why you left."
A memory flickered across Hennick's mind, Luan sitting on the fence post, tying knots in a rope too thick for his hands. Asking questions he didn't expect thoughtful answers to. Just wanting to be seen.
Hennick opened his mouth, then shut it again. He rubbed his palm over the back of his neck, fingers twitching like he didn't know what to do with them. "Luan, I didn't leave because of you. I swear it. I don't even remember how I ended up here. One moment I was doing my own thing, and the next…" He trailed off.
Luan looked away. "It doesn't make it better. Doesn't fix what it did."
"I know," Hennick said softly. "But I'd still like a chance to fix what I can."
Luan didn't respond. His jaw clenched as he looked past Hennick , not at him, not really. Just past. Then, with a sharp breath through his nose, he turned and walked back toward camp, each step stiff and measured.
Hennick stayed behind beneath the tree, shoulders slack, his hands curled loosely at his sides. He stared at the ground for a while, then leaned back against the rough bark, head tilted upward as though searching for words that still wouldn't come.
Goss caught up to Fara as she was finishing the last of the tool bundling, the two of them crouched beside the baskets of cord and drying cloth. His side was still aching from the previous battle, but that didn't stop him. He wanted to know more about her. There was something, an itch at the edge of recognition, just out of reach.
"You picked that up fast," he said casually, watching her twist and knot the twine ends with practised hands.
Fara shrugged. "I've done worse with less."
There was a pause. Goss's brow furrowed as he watched her hands move. There was precision in her grip, a familiar tension in the way she anchored the cords before twisting them into loops.
"You learn that from someone?"
"My father," she said simply. "He could've built the cistern faster. Probably stronger, too. He used to be a farmer, but he also built our house. He liked doing things with his hands."
The words landed with more weight than Goss expected. He stared at her face a little longer this time, taking in the arch of her brow, the stubborn line of her mouth. Something stirred, too vague to name.
"You talk about him like he's still around," he said slowly.
Fara didn't look up. "He should be, but..."
She stood and dusted off her knees. "What's that stone thing over there?" she asked, nodding toward the mound at the edge of the clearing.
"The shrine," Goss said. His voice had dropped without him meaning it to.
Fara tilted her head. "I think I'll take a look. Haven't gone there yet, just always seen it."
She turned before he could answer.
He watched her go, a strange tightness rising in his chest. It wasn't quite dread. Not yet. Just… something.
He bent down, slowly repacking the leftover cord into the basket. But his hands wouldn't cooperate. His fingers stalled, clumsy. His thoughts wouldn't settle. There was something about her voice, an echo he couldn't shake.
And then it hit him.
He stood upright so fast he nearly dropped the basket. The timberline, the fire, Thomund's laugh echoing in memory, "She's like me," Thomund had said once. "Won't stop climbing till her boots wear through."
Goss turned, heart hammering.
Fara was already at the shrine.
She approached slowly, gaze catching on the rough stone face, where a name had been etched in the stone. She stepped around the base, kneeling beside it. Her hands hovered over the surface for a long moment before her fingers made contact.
Just one name.
Thomund
Fara's breath caught. Her fingers froze on the name. Her mouth parted, but no sound came. A gust of wind rustled the trees behind her, but she didn't flinch.
She didn't cry.
Didn't speak.
Just stared.
Behind her, Goss arrived. He stopped short when he saw her kneeling. His chest rose and fell too fast.
"Thomund…" he whispered, barely audible.
His throat tightened. "God. She's yours."