Nighttime had settled over Percvale like a heavy blanket, the last traces of daylight fading into a deep, star-scattered darkness.
The castle, which had been alive with the sounds of construction during the day, now stood quiet and still. The only sounds were the crackling of the hearth fire and the occasional creak of old wood settling.
The day had seen the castle be like a marketplace. The sounds were very similar: the constant murmur of voices, the clatter of tools, the shouts of workers coordinating their efforts.
Talks about handling materials, about where this beam should go and where that stone should be placed.
And then there was the rhythmic Kan! Kan! Kan! of nails being driven into wood, the scrape of saws against timber, the heavy thud of stone being set into place.
Every corner of the castle had been alive with the noise of construction, a chaotic symphony of progress.
