The following afternoon
The main granary of Everfrost lay along the western wall of the stronghold, where thick gray stone walls — cold to the touch yet slow to lose heat — kept winter's chill at bay.
At this time of day, the sunlight had begun to take on a honeyed hue, glimmering through the fine dust rising from sacks of wheat, dried potatoes, and turnips stacked in towering heaps.
Rosalind stepped into the granary with a thick cloak draped loosely over her shoulders, followed by Maera Vexley. The air inside was steeped in the sharp scent of old wood, dry straw, and freshly harvested crops. The stewards bowed, then returned swiftly to sorting, recording, and shelving supplies.
"All three main granaries are nearly eighty percent full," Maera said with a faint smile, her voice tinged with satisfaction. "At our current pace, we should be able to fill them completely in just two more months. This year's yield may be one and a half times greater than last year, my lady."
