Weather’s been good. Got four courses of stones in place. Bardán’s shown me how to lay them. Need to cut a groove on some of the stones and line them up so the posts can be set in deep. Those have been shaped already, from when they tried to build this before. All stored away in the barn. Corner posts of oak. Different timbers for the ones in between. Beech, pine, elm, larch. Wattle will be ash, hazel, willow. That’ll need to be gathered fresh for the job. Crazy sort of house. Crazy or magical, depending on how you look at it. Wonder how many more kinds of trees there are in this forest, and how we’re going to know if we’ve left any of them out. And what happens if we do.

The day we set the posts in place, three of Tóla’s farm lads come to help, as well as Gormán and Conn. Nobody talking much. I’ll be glad when this job is done, and not just because I’ll see more of Blackthorn. I miss the give and take, the jokes and tales the fellows tell when I’m working somewhere else. I miss the good fellowship. Not much of that at Wolf Glen. Meal times, if anyone else is around, Bardán’ll move away, crouch down over his rations like a dog that’s waiting to have his share snatched off him. Though if it’s just me and him and Ripple, he’ll talk a bit. Gormán and Conn, they’re friendly enough, but they don’t chat, not much, and when they do it’s to each other, about their work and what needs doing: cutting timber, carting logs, pruning or planting or clearing. Sounds a good life, out of doors, plenty of different jobs. They don’t talk about the master, unless it’s something about their work. They don’t talk about the past and they never mention Cara. Seems like they’re keeping to the same sort of rules Tóla’s set for us.