*Eric*
“It’s quite a stroke of luck how quickly we’ve hit water.” My friend and neighbor, John, pauses to take a sip from our canteen, wiping his brow with the bottom of his shirt, clearing away a streak of dirt from his tan skin.
“T’was no luck about it,” I argue. “I spent many a midafternoon calculating the likely trajectory of the underground creek before I raised a single cornerstone.”
“I jest,” he admits. “No one has the forethought of such matters quite like you.”
“And none carries a load of rock so well as you.” I compliment my friend with ease. He was the first to offer his assistance when I suggested building the home. We sat together at the time in this very spot in the forest between our families’ estates, near the location where we are building my cottage, musing for endles
