Three weeks at the waystation, and Hunter was starting to suspect they'd accidentally built a town. One that winter might claim before it ever got a proper name.
The refugee settlement had exploded into actual civilization with the kind of speed that suggested desperation made excellent motivation. Elder Wei had organized construction with the efficiency of someone who'd rebuilt after disasters before and would probably rebuild again when the next catastrophe arrived, because the universe had a subscription service for disasters and excellent timing. Neat rows of wooden structures stretched two hundred meters from the waystation. Not shanties anymore. Real buildings with actual roofs and walls that looked sturdy enough to survive what was coming.
If winter decided to show mercy. Which it wouldn't, because mercy cost extra and nobody had paid.
