Sina looks down at the dirt and sighs when the first raindrops hit it: soon all her diagrams will be mud. At least the stain should hold, as long as she keeps the stone dry.
Looking up when Fern makes a sound, Sina meets her eyes briefly, then tentatively touches her hand. She gives it the smallest of squeezes, then withdraws her own with a shake of her head. "I should," she decides, "I've got deliveries to make." Another quick glance at Fern, then she quickly collects her things and stands. The stone remains, the tarp protecting it.