You set the staff upright.

Paint: spiral, ridge, not marsh. The stone cross at the fork gets a cleared base so it is a cross and not a bush. You look back once: Lynford tower, hospice roof, a river that will not be told.

Aelric notes the repair on the parchment like a clerk in love with updates.

Clouds over the Lynne go the color of unpolished pewter. Rain is a pilgrim too.

Upright, the staff is a sentence: high ground, packs, people. You tamp earth at the base with a heel. Rain, if it comes, will test the tamp. Way-wardens are people who expect rain.