The joining bed glowed dull red through the workshop’s open shutter.
Bedor stood with his face turned away from the heat while Tena checked the new copper bank against its supports. The fins were held in the corrected mounting geometry, their feet free to grow with the heat instead of tearing themselves against an obstinate frame. Beneath the bench, a bucket waited to catch anything the first cold pressure test found.
Iven watched the seam.
A little dark patch remained where the joining material had refused to wet the cleaned edge. It was small enough that an impatient person could have called it a stain.
“There,” he said.
“I see it,” Bedor answered.
They let the bank cool properly before opening that section again. The repair was already costing the boat a turn. Hurrying badly would charge Otha twice for the same lost morning.
Iven’s wrist cut had closed beneath its clean dressing. The shoulder bruise no longer bothered his reach. He held the five bench functions he had used before, drawing controlled heat into the accessible joining edge while Bedor corrected the surface. Beyond the bench, his ordinary coat hung beside the wash basin, its latest cut awaiting a quieter needle.
