The morning sun hit the square like it always did now, steady and unremarkable. No dramatic flares or sudden color shifts. Just light that let people get on with things.
The Reasonables had posted the Standard Days schedule on the big notice board three days ago, nothing official, just a list of suggestions. Morning chores, midday trades, evening wind-downs.
Amrit had called it a framework to keep everyone from burning out on endless weird ideas. Most folks nodded along. Stability felt good after everything.
It started with the laundry.
Jorah tossed his week's shirts into the basket by the communal wash lines. The basket shuddered, then flipped.
Socks shot out like they had legs, scattering across the grass. One landed on a passing sheep, which bleated once and kept walking. Jorah stared. "What the hell?"
By midday, half the yards looked like a storm had hit. Clothes refused anything too plain.
