You become a hinge: west beds, east pennies, south rope, middle timber, ridge paint. People move through you without knowing they move through a child. Osric’s fever listens to hammers. That is a better miracle than a comb singing.

Lynford, again: west bank, east bank, a river that does not applaud.

You shore if it is not shored. You send loads to Bram if the deck is still picky. You set the staff if it leans. You tell Pernell how many mouths. You tell Hawte how many pennies. You tell Col pontage is timber. You tell Hop the badge will wait a day if the bridge needs the day.

Osric listens from the bed, eyes hotter, then cooler. Hammers, if you have hammers, are a medicine.

The feast at Holmewell may go on without you. The crossing may hold because you were the person who treated a road as a job.