It was probable, but not certain, that the locals might reward their work after it had proved itself but they couldn’t count upon it. They were giving here because it was right. A gift that requires a gift in return is not a gift at all. It helped to know it would be beautiful when it was done, he reminded himself, as he mentally conjured up his drawings. Even if they never acknowledge its worth, we will have added something beautiful, as well as useful to this Age.
Atrus sighed and hammered in another connecting link. One of older boys, bored with Atrus’ steady grim pace, gave out a sudden shrill cry. Startled. Atrus’ hammer struck the girder at an angle and slipped, marring the surface. Atrus groaned at the mark, for it would have to stay, there was not time to replace it. He turned to remonstrate with the joker but another boy had slipped by and deposited a large crab on the worker next to him. Nikral felt it pinch in and panicked, flailing into Atrus, and knocking both of them sideways. Nik grabbed onto the partially attached girder but Atrus fell into the muck below.
Ignoring the laughing children, Atrus sat up and spat out the mud in disgust. Slowly he pulled himself upright upon the rock below the mud, but as he stomped back to shore his shoes and socks were sucked into the muck. He pulled his boots free but his socks were now full of the small sharp brambles that grew everywhere near the shore.
.
Now they stuck into his feet, caught his jacket, and crowned the top of his shins as he limped painfully into clearer waters of the inlet nearby.....stifling small yelps from innumerable small stings. These nettle-like seaweed growths concentrated in former tidal pools like this...the only suitable land the Chief Eeruk had been willing grant him. It wasn’t as far away from the shoreline as he would have liked, but the great rock below would hold the structure. That was the important thing. His fortress was sure to be surrounded by floodwaters during the height of the storms, but if he built it well, this shouldn’t matter.
He waded into the overwarm ocean waters and felt his aches ease, but its very comfort was a warning for those with eyes to read the signs, for those with an ear for the old histories. What was before would be again. The great storms would come, and soon.
He looked up into juvenile faces still grinning at his calamities and finally lost his temper. Tossing his hammer furiously to shore, he yelled in exasperation. “Why do you think I do this? For me? For MY children? I can simply leave when the seas return in the clouds! Perhaps that is what I should do!”
Seeing his anger, the boys faded back as their elders assisted Atrus painfully toward shore and settled him on the healing hot white sands. Atrus was soon sorry for his uncharacteristic burst of temper. Truth was, he was worried about many things. It had irritated him beyond reason to see a boy smiling at his pain, wearing an expression he had seen recently on Achenar’s face. He had been deeply shocked at his son’s lack of empathy for the plight of the natives here. Clearly Achenar could not be trusted with the full complexity of the Art, though this decision pained Atrus deeply. He mulled over this as the islanders sought to soothe him. 
