Freda Pov
I dragged the heavy roll of wire hemp over the frozen weeds, my palms stinging from the sharp wire ends that poked through my old wool gloves. Across the yard, the six neutral warriors sat on their large grey horses by the ditch line, their long black cloaks completely still as they watched us lift the broken timber.
"Put the short rail under the bracket, Rex."
"The wood is too wet to hold the iron nail." Rex slammed his stone mallet against the cedar post, his shoulder muscles shaking from the effort.
"It has to hold until Sunday morning."
"The Sunday hearing won't change the split rail, Freda."
