The smell didn't belong to the city. It hit Beorn before he cleared the interior courtyard gate, sharp and mineral, catching in the back of his throat.
The batch at the mixing station was giving off heat, reacting even in the cool morning air, steam rising off the trough as the men worked it in steady passes. The smell didn't belong because it was new, cement and concrete introduced to this world.
He passed through the gate and stopped, taking a moment to watch the work. The breach in the wall still measured twelve feet across, that hadn't changed.
The first two courses of new stone had been laid on a foundation that had set clean and grey, consistent across its surface. The contrast with the surrounding masonry was visible from twenty feet away. The old wall on either side showed its history, rough stone, uneven mortar joints, layers of repair stacked over time without uniformity.
