The castle was alive with activity.
Dust drifted through the corridors like morning fog, and the rhythmic sounds of hammers and saws echoed off the stone walls.
Workers moved through the halls, their boots heavy on the worn floors, their voices low as they coordinated their efforts. It was chaos, but it was organized chaos, the kind that came from experience and planning.
Darion stood in the great hall, watching a crew of men carry timber up the stairs. They moved with efficiency, their bodies strong.
The roofs were the most urgent issue, Ghan had said. They would start there and work their way down. It made sense. A castle with a leaking roof was a castle that would continue to decay. Fix the roof first, then the walls, then the floors, then everything else.
Who knows, maybe halfway through the work, a heavy rain would start to fall or something like that.
