The Ironmane border was marked by standing stones.
Not a wall, not a fence, not the kind of infrastructure that said keep out in the blunt language of physical barriers. Just stones, each one twice the height of a person, carved with the Ironmane clan's mark and spaced precisely enough that their line was continuous without being impenetrable.
The gaps between them were exactly wide enough to walk through, and there was no gate, no checkpoint, nothing that functioned as an official crossing. Just the stones and the meaning behind them.
"Historically," Leah said, standing at the line, "crossing into Ironmane territory without their invitation was a declaration of hostile intent. Under the inter-clan agreements, it required formal challenge and response."
She looked at the gaps between the stones.
"Marak has not formally declared the crossing closed. Which means the ancient protocol still technically applies."
"Technically," Owen said.
