55th of Summer, 510 A.V.
He had come too early. It had been several hours, and the sun had yet to creep her head over the horizon. Instead he had to work by the muted light of the moon. It was a blue and grey light, which blended in the mortar with the bricks separating each flowerbed.
Tayhura scratched his chin as he knelt down uncertainly, balancing a trowel in one hand and the handle to the brick-filled wheelbarrow in the other. He was still in the process of removing the old bricks to be recycled or resold. He had hoped to finished that stage by now, but at this rate, there was little hope for that.
"Well..." he muttered to himself in Arumenic.
He placed the wheelbarrow onto the floor of the garden. With his free hand, he shifted his plain, worn tunic about his feet so that he was no longer stepping on it.
"I guess I'll wait. Wouldn't want to ruin their precious bricks," he groused quietly to himself.