White-Feather

Tobias set the block in place and straightened the row before he allowed himself to check the sun’s position. At his left, the orb settled low in a deep orange hue that tinted the few clouds streaking the horizon. “Damn it,” He cursed. “Setting already. At this rate, it’ll be winter before we have enough shelters finished.” “Or, we could move on west, like the rest of the Dana’an have.” Vinn replied from his row of unfinished wall opposite. “We’re not supposed to stay here forever.” “Yeah,” Tufts added, idly flipping the square knife he was supposed to be cutting and shaping more blocks with as he sat cross legged in the space between them. “Everyone else’s reached Vhelian’s camp by now. So why are we building tiny houses here?” “I’ve told you before, these are way-shelters since we can’t go back to the tunnels. Not homes to live in. And they’re not for us. They’re for folk on the run to use after us. And while we’re still stationed here to help.” The four of them glanced around what