The vessel beneath North's oldest scar stayed full after the breath ended.
Sefa marked its westward flow with three dry heat strips. The first cooled. The second held. The third warmed again before North inhaled.
"There is another pulse beyond the cut bed," she said. "I cannot tell you what it reaches."
Dera Koss opened the forty-three-year roll beside the vessel. Its two drawn hook marks matched the scars under her wooden spoon. The sheet named one west turn, nine occupied field frames, two broken pump rooms, and a twelve-day emergency hold.
It did not name a reason for North's movement.
Olan Dren answered from Lower Gate with water above his knees. Ura Vem had tied a roof rope around the old vent keeper's waist. Olan showed a bent copper hook beneath the current wheel.
"I carried that on the first cut," he said. "I was nineteen."
