Chapter 31 — Wharfs and Waves
The river stretched lazily across the Alberton valley, reflecting the rising sun in scattered, golden streaks. Grace stood at the edge of the cleared shoreline, watching the water ripple against the rough stone embankments. Builders and carpenters had already begun setting up piles of timber and scaffolding, and the scent of sawdust mingled with the sharp tang of salt water. The wharf was no longer a dream; it was becoming real.
Omar leaned against a sturdy post, arms folded over his chest, surveying the scene with the careful eye of a man used to judging people and projects alike. "We'll need a team for the foundations," he said, voice low but certain. "Strong timber, stone for piling, and enough hands to move it before the river rises."
