When he climbed back up, cooked what little he had managed to catch, and returned to the structure he had been ordered to build, the same pattern continued.
The work was still difficult, still slowed by the weight of the rings, but his movements gradually became more efficient. The saw no longer jerked as violently in his hands, the rhythm of his cuts stabilizing as he unconsciously reduced the force behind each motion.
He was no longer trying to dominate the material, but to work with it, even if he refused to frame it that way in his mind.
By the time he returned to the river later that day, his body was already near its limit. That was precisely when the old man chose to begin again.
The water felt the same.
His reaction did not.
