THE SOUTHERN RIDGE — DAWN
I had wanted a quiet morning.
That was my first mistake.
My second mistake had been believing that in our lives, anything done sincerely would remain private once three bakers, one youth observer, a former Saintess-administrator, two city clerks, and Kassandra became aware of it.
By sunrise, the ridge was full.
Not in a ceremonial way.
Worse.
In a community way.
Someone had brought bread.
Someone else had brought stone tools.
A civic mason from Greyhaven stood near the marked trench with crossed arms and the expression of a man who had already decided our original foundation angles were emotionally irresponsible.
Brin was there with a notebook and entirely too much satisfaction.
Lily had shown up with legal copies of the mixed-use designation papers because apparently she no longer knew how to attend anything without governance.
Mira had sleeves rolled up and looked more real than any future ought to be allowed to feel.
