Next, Mrs. Hayworth led us to the new granary at the river's bend. Its stone walls rose several stories; wooden shutters covered the windows to guard against damp. We stepped inside, passing the threshold into cool shade. Laborers bustled about, carrying sacks of grain on wooden pulleys up to the upper levels. The aroma of fresh harvest—honeyed and warm—hung in the air.
I ran a hand over the rough stone wall, feeling its solidity. "It stands strong," I said, turning to Alexander. "A fortress of plenty."
He smiled. "A fortress of hope."
We climbed a spiral stone staircase to a raised platform overlooking the granary floor. Below, workers in simple tunics moved with focused purpose. Guard ladders quartered the walls, each man rigid in his duty. The new bellows from Avalorian‐forged hearths kept the hearths warm and grain dry.
