The waterwheel began turning while the eastern sky was still grey.
Its paddles struck the canal in a steady rhythm, carrying movement through the axle and into the grain mill. A low knock sounded every few rotations where the leather coupling had begun wearing against its housing. Tobin heard it from inside, stopped the wheel and replaced the strip before the first grain sacks arrived.
Weston watched the discarded piece twist in his hands.
The leather had softened near the centre again. He had treated the previous strip with oil, layered the one before that with cloth and tested a thin spring-steel connection that transferred too much vibration into the millstones.
None of the replacements lasted as long as he wanted.
Tobin leaned out through the mill doorway. “The new one will carry us through the day.”
“It will need replacing tomorrow.”
“Then tomorrow we replace it.”
“That wastes material.”
“It saves six people from turning querns.”
Ossa arrived with two settlers carrying grain sacks between them. She heard the last part and pointed toward the mill.
“If you intend to argue with the machine, do it after it grinds breakfast.”
Weston set the worn coupling aside.
The mill remained imperfect, but it worked. Duskwatch had enough unfinished problems without stopping a useful machine until every weakness disappeared.
Thirty-three people lived behind the walls now. Most had entered the permanent register. A few remained guest households while Desmond reviewed debts, medical concerns and disputes carried from their previous homes.
The settlement continued changing around them.
New drainage channels ran beside the communal halls. The first planted rows darkened the lower field. A raised cistern stood near the treatment house, supplied by a hand pump connected to the covered well. Public taps served the kitchen, washhouse and medical rooms.
Elara had chosen the cistern’s location after rejecting Weston’s first plan beside the workshop.
Ash, metal dust and oil collected near the workshop path. The tank itself would have remained sealed, but the people gathering water beneath it would have carried contamination away on their boots and buckets.
The new tower stood uphill from the houses and far from the waste trenches.
Elara waited beside the treatment-house tap while Weston operated the pump. Her dark hair was tied behind her head, though several strands had escaped around her cheeks. She wore a divided blue working robe over fitted trousers, practical enough for walking through wet channels without dragging fabric behind her.
Water reached the tap.
Elara closed it without warning.
Pressure entered the chamber beneath the cistern and returned safely toward the well. The exposed pipe remained still.
“Faster,” she said.
Weston increased the pump speed until the weighted limiter stopped the handle from moving any harder.
Three children watched from the path. They had caused the previous failure by turning the original pump as quickly as possible while every outlet remained closed.
Weston stepped away from the handle.
“You can try it.”
The oldest child approached with visible suspicion. “It will not throw water through the road again?”
“It should not.”
“That does not sound certain.”
“It did not account for you last time.”
The boy accepted this as praise and called the others over. All three pushed the handle together. The limiter held, excess water returned to the well and the cistern continued filling without splitting another joint.
Elara checked the pipe before allowing herself to relax.
“They will find a different weakness.”
“They usually do.”
A bell sounded from the southern tower.
Nella called down from above the gate. “Crown carriage!”
The inspection party had arrived four days early.
Weston had expected the possibility after reading Percival’s letter, though Desmond had hoped the poor state of the eastern road would slow them. Instead, a dark carriage bearing the Crown’s silver sun approached Duskwatch with eight mounted guards and a covered wagon behind it.
Callum reached the gate before the carriage stopped.
The militia wore matching dark tabards over whatever armour they possessed. Two archers remained visible on the rampart with their weapons lowered. Garen stood inside the entrance, broad shoulders filling part of the gatehouse shadow, one palm resting against the stone.
The lead guard dismounted and surveyed the courtyard.
“Move those carts,” he said. “The royal party will require the command building and the stable nearest it.”
Callum glanced toward the two supply carts beside the administrative room.
“The western stable has already been cleared for your horses. Rooms are prepared in the officers’ quarters.”
“The surveyor will need direct access to the command building.”
“He will have access to the records.”
The guard looked at him more closely. “I said the building.”
Callum did not move.
Desmond arrived before the dispute hardened. He carried a copy of the inspection writ, already opened to the relevant section.
“The Crown party is entitled to secure lodging and access to ward records,” he said. “The command building remains in use. The officers’ quarters are dry, guarded and within the inner wall.”
The guard started to answer, but the carriage door opened.
Royal Surveyor Lucan Merrow stepped down first. He was in his late fifties, narrow-faced and dressed in a dark travelling coat with a silver chain marking his office. Road dust covered the lower half of the carriage, though his own boots were almost clean.
Captain Orwin Thale followed him. He wore a practical breastplate beneath his cloak and carried himself with the stiff confidence of a man accustomed to arriving as the highest military authority present.
The third official emerged with three ledgers beneath one arm.
Crown Scribe Aldren Pellor was thin, sharp-featured and younger than Merrow by perhaps fifteen years. His eyes went first to the mana light above the gate, then to the cistern, the western tower and the heavy ballista mounted beyond it.
He began writing before anyone introduced him.
Merrow listened while the lead guard explained the disagreement.
“Are the officers’ rooms secure?” he asked.
“Yes,” Callum said.
“Are the records accessible?”
“Under Desmond’s supervision.”
Merrow looked toward the administrative building, then at the writ in Desmond’s hands.
“We will use the prepared rooms.”
The guard’s expression remained displeased, but he began directing the horses west.
It was a small concession. Weston noticed that Merrow had made it only after confirming what the writ actually allowed.
Pellor stopped beneath the gate light.
“What powers this?”
“Ambient mana,” Weston said.
The scribe looked up at the sealed stone housing. “Through a collection rune?”
“Through a physical channel structure.”
“Plans?”
“Not part of the inspection materials.”
Pellor’s pen stopped.
Merrow intervened before the first disagreement became the entire visit.
“We will begin with the ward registers. Devices can be examined afterward.”
He looked toward Weston’s working clothes, the pump and the children still gathered around the handle.
“You received notice for four days from now.”
“Yes.”
“We made better time.”
Desmond understood the purpose of the early arrival. The party wanted to see Duskwatch before Weston could clear every path, hide failed equipment or arrange smiling settlers in front of finished houses.
Weston had no intention of doing any of those things.
The Crown party occupied the administrative room for most of the morning.
Merrow sat at the central table with two scribes. Pellor moved between the records and the mana light, occasionally looking upward as if it might reveal its design through persistence. Captain Thale remained near the window, studying the wall and the militia outside.
Desmond presented the registers in order.
Permanent residents. Guest households. Food stores. Trade agreements. Monster-material sales. Weapons. Illnesses. External debts. Planned winter levy.
Merrow examined the population figures.
“You accepted twenty-three people within a few days.”
“They entered first as guest hearths,” Desmond said. “Medical and legal review came before permanent registration.”
“Why not bind them immediately to the ward?”
“Because one concealed illness or unresolved crime could harm everyone already living here.”
“And those who decline registration?”
“They remain guests until they leave or choose to join.”
Merrow looked toward Weston. “They may leave after receiving food and shelter?”
“After settling what they fairly owe the common stores.”
Pellor glanced up from his ledger.
“That creates uncertainty in labour obligations.”
“The founding-season labour rule applies to registered residents,” Desmond replied. “Guests volunteer or remain under temporary household terms.”
Merrow asked why the winter levy had not been fixed.
“The fields have only been planted,” Desmond said. “We will calculate seed retention, storage needs and household shares after the harvest estimate becomes real.”
“A levy announced afterward may be unpopular.”
“It may also be possible.”
Merrow’s expression did not change, but one of the scribes briefly stopped writing.
The Kestrel disputes came next.
Sera Vale admitted owing seed and part of the previous year’s rent. Her original contract was genuine. The additional labour clause had been entered after her husband died and carried neither her mark nor a Crown witness.
Harlan admitted taking two wagon tools when he left Kestrel’s estate. The tools remained sealed in Duskwatch’s storehouse. He claimed the estate owed him six months of wages, though he possessed no written record.
Pellor examined the Baron’s sealed copies.
“A noble seal carries legal weight.”
“So do dates,” Desmond said. “Sera’s husband could not consent three months after his burial.”
Pellor ignored the tone and studied the document more carefully.
He found the mismatch himself.
The labour extension used a different ink from the original agreement and had been entered in another hand. That did not prove fraud, but it justified review.
Merrow questioned Sera directly.
“If the financial amount is confirmed, can you pay it?”
“Not in silver.”
“Labour?”
“For Duskwatch, yes. Not as Kestrel’s property.”
Merrow turned to Weston. “Would you assume the debt?”
“If the amount is valid, we can negotiate repayment from future household production.”
“You would place the ward treasury behind private debts?”
“Only where keeping the household here benefits the ward.”
Desmond added, “And only after review. We are not purchasing settlers from neighbouring estates.”
Harlan received less favourable questioning.
“You took tools that were not yours,” Merrow said.
“They had not paid me.”
“That does not transfer ownership.”
“No.”
“If the wage claim fails, the tools return.”
Harlan looked toward Weston.
Weston nodded. “They return.”
Pellor appeared to have expected resistance. Instead, he wrote down the answer and moved on.
Duskwatch protected registered residents from seizure. It did not erase every obligation they carried.
The inspection continued outside.
Merrow wanted the water system first. Elara explained the separation between drinking water, irrigation water and wash runoff while Weston demonstrated the well pump and raised cistern.
Pellor inspected the mana light mounted near the treatment-house entrance before looking toward the grain store.
“There is another light inside that building?”
“Yes,” Weston said.
“Above stored flour?”
“Near the central beam.”
“Does the collection lattice produce heat during failure?”
“Very little during normal use.”
“That was not my question.”
Weston paused.
He had tested overheating during early designs, but the stable globes had been examined only under ordinary operation. A damaged lattice might arc or concentrate mana differently near airborne grain dust.
Pellor had identified a real risk.
Weston looked toward Desmond. “Close the grain-store light until I inspect the housing.”
Pellor seemed surprised that he had agreed.
Merrow asked, “You had not considered ignition?”
“I considered heat. Not a fault near suspended flour.”
The scribe wrote that down, though without the satisfaction he had shown earlier.
Later, Weston moved the grain-store light outside the main storage chamber and enclosed the collection lattice inside a thicker stone sleeve. The concern did not make Pellor entitled to the design, but it proved he was more than an official looking for property to claim.
Captain Thale inspected the defences after midday.
Callum led him along the southern and western ramparts. He gave exact numbers without attempting to impress him.
Eleven residents could fight reliably. Six more were in training. One heavy ballista had been proven against mirehorns. Two smaller launchers remained unfinished. Most armour had been repaired from old garrison equipment.
Thale looked down at the archers practising below.
“Hunters.”
“Mostly,” Callum said.
“They will break against disciplined infantry.”
“If they meet disciplined infantry today, perhaps.”
“You are comfortable admitting that?”
“It remains true whether I admit it or not.”
Thale examined the wall construction and firing lanes before asking about Garen.
“Under whose authority does Stronghold operate?”
“Outside battle, he commands earthworks and protects Weston beyond the inner wall. During an alarm, I deploy him.”
“You hold a formal Crown rank?”
“No.”
“Then under emergency frontier protocol, a Crown captain may assume coordinating command when a high-class monster or hostile army threatens Crown land.”
Callum had expected something like this.
“Only after an emergency declaration from the authorised surveyor or regional commander.”
Thale looked toward Merrow, who had joined them near the western platform.
Merrow said nothing.
The inspection writ did not itself declare a military emergency.
Callum continued, “Until then, Duskwatch remains under its Warden and appointed defence command.”
Thale’s mouth tightened, but the dispute was legal rather than personal. He did not claim eight escort guards could replace the people who knew the walls.
“Run your alarm drill,” he said. “I want the ordinary procedure, not a performance.”
Callum rang the bell.
The movement that followed was less tidy than the previous practices but more revealing.
Children entered the reinforced cellar beneath the treatment house. Brinna and two household leaders counted them at the entrance. One family arrived late because a storage chest had blocked the rear passage of the communal hall.
Callum sent two militia members to move it before the drill continued.
Ossa closed the irrigation branches nearest the wall. Desmond’s assistants secured the current register, treasury key and supply inventory. Nella’s archers climbed the western platform.
Elara opened the emergency water outlets along the inner rampart. The firefighting channels filled from the reservoir system without touching the drinking cistern.
Garen stepped onto the southern road and drove one fist into the earth.
The approach shifted beneath the wooden training posts.
Three angled ridges rose where cavalry would naturally form for a charge. Stone closed around the legs of the first row. Beyond them, the ground dropped suddenly beneath another group before folding inward around their bases.
Garen then lifted a slab of earth beneath several posts and tilted it sideways, creating a moving barrier that would have thrown armoured soldiers into one another.
He did not need to raise a wall. In less than a minute, he had turned a clear road into broken terrain, restraints and kill lanes.
Thale watched in silence.
Callum corrected the militia’s positions, made the western stair group repeat its climb and sent one archer away from a firing slit she could not use safely.
Weston remained near the command building until Callum called him toward the western wall.
“Foundation check.”
Weston placed one hand against the ballista platform, found a weak seam where repeated firing had shifted the outer support and marked it for repair.
The drill ended after seven minutes.
Thale noted the blocked exit, the inexperienced archers and the weak ballista support. He also noted that the settlement responded without waiting for royal direction.
His tone changed slightly when he spoke to Callum afterward.
“You need a second route from the western platform.”
“I know.”
“And signal flags for when the bell cannot be heard.”
Callum considered it. “Agreed.”
Thale had stopped speaking as though nothing in Duskwatch deserved to survive.
Pellor’s inspection of the altered walls came later.
He touched the smooth stone along the western tower.
“This began as earthwork?”
“Garen raised the mass,” Weston said. “I changed the structure.”
“Into stone?”
“Layered stone with reinforced sections.”
“How much stronger?”
Weston avoided a number.
“Strong enough for the threats we have faced.”
Garen answered more directly from behind them.
“My temporary wall can stop a charge. Weston’s finished structure is many times stronger and does not depend on my mana to remain standing.”
Pellor looked across the rampart, then toward the houses beyond it.
“Every military application should be registered.”
“You may record the existing structures,” Desmond said.
“The method matters more than the number of walls.”
“The method is part of Weston’s Calling and protected craft.”
Pellor turned to Merrow. “A frontier Warden capable of producing fortress-grade construction in minutes represents a Crown defence interest.”
Merrow did not disagree.
“The interest will be recorded. This writ does not transfer his workshop or compel disclosure of every design.”
The distinction did not satisfy Pellor, though he followed it.
The private questioning of Weston’s Calling took place that evening.
Merrow, Thale and Pellor sat across from him in the administrative room. Desmond remained beside the records. Callum, Garen and Elara stayed because the Calling affected military, structural and medical matters.
Merrow asked what the Calling Stone had recorded.
“Twelfth Calling. Wright.”
“And what can you actually do?”
Weston kept his answer measured.
“I can restructure nonliving material I understand. Material type, scale and complexity affect the result.”
“Stone into metal?”
“In limited amounts.”
“Wood into steel?”
“With sufficient mass and a design I understand.”
“Connected walls?”
“Touch gives the best control. Connected material lets the effect travel farther, but precision weakens.”
“Living matter?”
“Unaffected.”
Pellor asked about weapons, armour and roads. Weston confirmed only what Duskwatch had already demonstrated.
He did not explain the full theoretical reach of the Calling.
Merrow eventually dismissed the others to discuss his notes with the scribes.
Outside, Desmond stopped Weston near the cistern.
“You still gave Pellor enough to infer more.”
“I avoided claiming unlimited materials.”
“He knows you can alter wood, stone and metal. He knows connected structures extend your reach. He will imagine the rest.”
“I could not deny what is built in front of him.”
“No. But from now on, answers about untested applications should remain untested.”
Weston understood.
The Crown had not learned everything. It had learned enough to become interested.
Elara found him later beside the treatment-house tap.
He had spent more than an hour replacing fine valves in the cistern return line. His right hand had begun stiffening, though he continued turning a narrow fitting between his fingers.
The piece slipped and struck the step.
Elara picked it up.
“Sit.”
Weston lowered himself beside her.
She took his wrist and pressed two fingers against the strained pathways beneath the skin. Cool mana spread through his palm, easing the tension slowly rather than forcing it away.
The millwheel continued turning beyond the cottages. Crown guards crossed the courtyard in pairs, watching Garen whenever they passed him.
Elara’s knee rested close to Weston’s on the narrow step. A damp strand of her hair brushed her cheek each time the evening wind shifted.
“You nearly answered Merrow’s last question,” she said.
“Desmond interrupted.”
“I noticed.”
“He has made certain I noticed too.”
Her thumb pressed gently against the base of his fingers.
“You should be more careful.”
“With the Crown or my hand?”
“Both.”
Weston watched her face while she worked. She did not look embarrassed by the closeness or pretend not to notice his attention.
“I trust you to tell me when I have gone too far,” he said.
“I already do.”
“I know.”
Her fingers remained around his hand for another moment after the stiffness eased.
Then she released him and passed back the small fitting.
“Finish tomorrow.”
Weston looked toward the open pipe.
Elara stood.
“That was not a suggestion.”
He left it unfinished.
The hunters arrived before sunset the next day.
Nella rang the southern bell in the pattern reserved for wounded approaching. A damaged cart appeared on the Hollowmark road with one horse still pulling. The animal’s mane had burned away along one side, and blackened leather hung from the harness.
A second horse dragged behind the cart, dead in the broken traces.
Three hunters lay in the wagon bed.
Elara reached the gate before the Crown escort understood the alarm. The worst-burned man went directly to the treatment house, where Mara cut away the remains of his coat. Elara drew heat from the injury with cold mist and controlled water, keeping the damaged skin from tearing further.
Callum questioned the least injured hunter.
They had travelled north to check traps near the old stone ridge. Birds fled the forest all at once. A shadow crossed the road, followed by an impact beyond the trees. They heard a mirehorn scream.
Fire struck the cart during the first pass.
The surviving horse bolted before the creature returned.
Captain Thale inspected the burned harness.
“A drake could do this.”
Nella shook her head. “Not with that shadow.”
Pellor had already begun closing one of his document chests.
“The inspection party should withdraw until a monster company arrives.”
“How long?” Desmond asked.
Thale answered. “Three weeks from Highmere, assuming the roads remain open.”
“The creature found the trade road today,” Callum said. “Three weeks is not useful.”
Thale looked toward the walls. “If the threat is confirmed, I can request that Merrow issue an emergency declaration. Crown military authority would then coordinate the defence.”
“Coordinate with what soldiers?” Callum asked. “Your eight guards?”
“The declaration would place the ward under recognised Crown command until relief arrives.”
“You do not know the evacuation routes, water systems, militia or terrain.”
“I know wyverns.”
“How many have you killed?”
Thale’s expression hardened.
“Enough to know one ballista and a group of hunters will not stop one.”
Callum did not disagree with that.
Merrow prevented the argument from becoming a formal challenge.
“We confirm the threat first. No declaration will be issued based on wounded testimony alone.”
He looked toward Weston.
“Will you remain behind the walls?”
“No.”
The search group left before full darkness.
Callum chose Weston, Garen, Elara and Nella. Thale joined with two Crown guards. Merrow remained at Duskwatch to continue the inspection and prepare for a possible emergency ruling.
The burn scar began less than two miles north.
Trees along one side of the road had blackened from their roots to the lower branches. The damage formed a narrow path rather than spreading naturally through the damp forest.
Elara examined the soil.
“The fire crossed quickly. It did not remain long enough to ignite the whole slope.”
Nella found the cart’s broken wheel near a ditch. Broad gouges cut through the mud beyond it.
They followed the damage toward the stone ridge.
Several trees near the top had fallen outward from one point. Garen crouched among the fractured roots and placed both hands against the exposed rock.
“The stone is still settling,” he said. “It landed here, shifted its weight and pushed off again.”
A mirehorn carcass lay beyond the broken trees.
The plated back had been torn open. Most of the chest flesh was gone, and armour that had resisted axes had split beneath teeth and claws.
Thale stopped beside a footprint pressed into the stone.
Three forward claws had cracked the surface. Each was longer than Weston’s forearm.
“Wyvern,” he said.
Wind moved across the ridge.
Garen turned his head toward the north.
Callum pulled Weston down behind a broken slab before the shadow reached them.
The wyvern passed above the treetops.
Dark scales covered its long chest and belly. Blood stained its rear claws. The heavy tail moved behind it like a suspended blade, and its wings drove enough air downward to shake loose branches from the ridge.
Its belly remained swollen from feeding.
The creature banked once.
One yellow eye followed the group below. Garen had both fists against the ground, while Elara gathered cold mist around her hands.
The wyvern did not descend. It had eaten, and the people below were alert rather than scattered prey.
After one slow circle, it turned toward the northern cliffs.
Nella watched it disappear. “There are caves beyond that ridge.”
Thale remained behind cover until the wingbeats faded.
“It saw the road and the settlement lights.”
“It will return when it hunts again,” Garen said.
They reached Duskwatch after dark.
Merrow listened to Thale’s report inside the administrative room. Pellor had packed two document chests and placed them near the carriage.
“A mature wyvern has claimed the northern cliffs,” Thale said. “The road, fields and settlement lie inside its hunting range.”
Merrow looked toward Callum. “Can Duskwatch defend itself?”
“Not reliably with the current weapons.”
Pellor said, “Then the residents should withdraw to Hollowmark while the Crown summons a proper company.”
“Hollowmark cannot hold or feed them,” Desmond replied.
“Then an emergency declaration is necessary.”
Merrow looked toward Thale.
The captain spoke more carefully than he had earlier.
“Under declaration, I would coordinate military response until relief arrives. Callum would retain local command beneath that structure.”
Callum did not answer immediately.
“Relief takes three weeks,” he said. “The wyvern may attack tomorrow. I will work with you, but I will not delay decisions while messages travel west.”
Thale looked toward the map.
For the first time, he did not argue from rank alone.
“What weapons can reach it?”
“The western ballista cannot elevate high enough,” Callum said. “Its rotation is too narrow.”
Weston spread the existing weapon plans across the table.
“The launch force is also insufficient unless we strike a weak joint.”
Pellor moved closer.
“You intend to construct a new military device during a Crown inspection.”
“We intend to survive the inspection,” Desmond said.
Merrow ignored the remark.
“What do you need?”
Callum marked likely approaches from the northern cliffs. Nella identified where the wyvern could circle before reaching the fields. Garen examined the tower foundations and the open space above the northeastern wall.
“I can raise a broad platform there,” he said. “The mass will be connected to the inner wall.”
Weston began sketching.
The new launcher required a rotating base, greater elevation and a reinforced rail. A mana-pressure chamber could add speed after the initial tendon-driven release, but the chamber would create heat and recoil beyond anything the existing tower had absorbed.
Elara pointed toward the rear housing.
“If you charge it heavily, this section will overheat before a second shot.”
“A cooling sleeve around the chamber?”
“With channels connected to the emergency cistern. The first test can use my magic, but a permanent crew cannot depend on me standing beside it.”
Desmond calculated steel, tendon and labour.
“How many bolts?”
“One full prototype first,” Weston said. “We test the chamber before making more.”
Thale looked at the sketch. “One shot is not a defence.”
“One successful shot may be.”
Pellor reached for the plans.
Weston placed his hand over them.
“You can inspect the finished weapon.”
“This falls directly under Crown defence interest.”
“Interest does not give you the design.”
Merrow watched both men.
“The ward faces the immediate threat. The plans remain with the builder until the weapon is tested.”
Pellor withdrew his hand.
Construction began before midnight.
Garen raised a broad cylinder of stone and packed earth beneath the northeastern wall. Weston restructured the mass into a circular foundation tied deep into the existing rampart. Callum moved the night watch and established a clear work zone. Desmond issued steel, timber and preserved Duskmaw tendons from the stores.
Elara shaped the cooling channels and tested the flow from the emergency cistern. Nella remained on the northern platform, watching the cliffs.
By dawn, the weapon was still incomplete.
The rotating base stuck under full weight and required Garen to shift the tower beneath it before Weston could correct the bearing. The cooling channels leaked near the rear chamber. Only one armour-piercing bolt had been completed, and the pressure system had never been charged beyond one quarter strength.
Protective shields for the crew remained stacked beside the stair.
The weapon looked formidable from below, but everyone who had built it understood how much remained unproven.
Captain Thale climbed the tower with Callum and inspected the firing arc instead of trying to take command. Pellor stood near the base, recording the visible dimensions without asking again for the plans.
Weston fitted the first long black bolt into the rail.
It was taller than a man and narrow enough at the point to enter a wing joint or the softer line beneath the breast scales.
The launcher groaned when Callum turned it north.
The rotation stopped several degrees short of the intended angle.
Weston marked the bearing for correction.
Beyond the walls, birds rose suddenly from the northern forest.
Hundreds of them crossed the sky in a dark, uneven cloud.
The chickens behind the kitchen began screaming inside their enclosure. The milk goat pulled against its rope hard enough to drag the stake halfway from the ground.
Garen lowered one palm to the tower floor.
Something heavy had landed beyond the northern ridge.
It was moving again.