"The ninety-third one..."
Underground refuge.
The cart stopped at the foot of the Banyan Tree Guardian. Eureka straightened his aching back, waiting for the sapling to lower a piece of paper, like a child picking up a candy, entwining the five or six tons of brick and stone piled nearby, waiting for them to be taken away together.
"What are you counting?"
Next to him, Lance, who was about to replace Eureka and had already familiarized himself with the routine, tried not to look up at the Banyan Tree Guardian, asking softly.
"How many I've transported, do you want to count too?" Eureka swayed his hips. "At least a dozen people are doing the same job. How many have we transported today? A thousand?"
Lance shook his head, his cheek muscles jiggling with the motion. "I don't want to. I used to count 20 counts a month; 1 count meant going hungry for a day."
Counting was a pain engraved in Lance's soul.
