Kael traces numbers on the table, surrounded by oil-lit transcriptions, while Old Sekani sits quietly at the back.Kael speaks with conviction, arms gesturing, as the glass-eyes lean in, faces lit by the warm glow of oil-lamps.Renna, Dessa, and Kael stand tense in the council hall, warm lamp-light casting long shadows between them.Kael leans over the central table, laying down transmission papers under the desk lamp's warm glow, her scar visible.Kael stands below the massive dish, turning the crank as the first light of dawn leaks into the sky.Kael stands over transcription papers, her scarred arm visible, while Old Sekani's spotted hands rest gently nearby.Kael directs the metalworkers on the signal dish, sparks flying as they secure the salvaged steel, the warm sky casting a glow.Kael writes in her private log by lantern-light, the scar on her forearm visible, a lens wrapped in oiled cloth nearby.
