The carts came home under banners still dusty from the road. Three weeks of travel, three weeks of testing Arielle's board across all the territories—and now Grafen's hill rose before them like a sigh of arrival. The air smelled of rye and clean stone. Lyan rode at the front, cloak open, letting the wind do what it wanted.
Reedbank had been the first stop. There, children had read the board out loud as if reciting scripture, their small fingers tracing the line that said TRY, MEASURE, SHARE. A grandmother had tapped the words with her walking stick and told them that anyone who remembered these would never starve. Arielle had listened, eyes bright, a hand pressed to her chest as if catching the sound before it left.
