The two remained deadlocked in midair. After dawdling for half the night, it was nearly time to sleep. Though darkness posed no obstacle to either of them, the commotion would disturb the villagers, so Clark took a step back and decided to continue in the morning.
Magneto snorted coldly and strode back to his room without sparing Clark a glance. What he had not expected was that Clark's "morning" was not really morning at all—Clark woke him up at 3:30 a.m.
Schiller followed them to the edge of the fields. It was nearly time for him to get up anyway. He yawned, thinking he would find something to eat once dawn broke.
The night was deep and the dew heavy. Magneto, freshly awakened, was somewhat drowsy, but he still forced himself to begin by loosening the soil before plowing. Yet after struggling for quite a while, he ended up trapped in the same vicious cycle.
Without any reference points, he easily plowed too deep, then had to level the ground and start over. But leveling it could compact the soil, forcing him to loosen it again before plowing anew.
For an ordinary laborer, this was not particularly difficult. Even someone who had never farmed before would more or less figure it out after doing it a couple of times.
But Magneto had not personally done manual labor for decades. More precisely, the work he did was destructive, and he always struck once and fled. Having gone so long without sustained, repetitive labor, he had become especially impatient with such things and easily lost focus.
After all that effort, the two had only finished about five or six acres. Honestly, they might as well have brought in two tractors.
Out of options, Clark landed and said to Schiller, "Doctor, why don't