“Each stone weighed between fifteen and thirty kilograms. Each trip took forty minutes in the mud — twenty to the quarry, twenty back, the return journey slower because of the burden. Ketu had made seven trips since dawn. His shoulders ached with a deep, bruised pain that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. The skin on his hands was raw — the stone's surface was rough and granular, like dried salt, and it scraped away the outer layer of skin with each grip adjustment. Blood from his palms mixed with rainwater and mud, creating a pink slurry that made the stones slippery and the work more dangerous.”