The stream chat messages faded from Hajin's vision, leaving only the quiet snap of the wood in the office hearth as the charcoal settled. Ferra stood near the window, her fingers still tracing the edges of the traveler trousers she had pulled over her scales, grumbling that the human wool felt like sand against her skin.
Marrick slowly peeked over the top of his desk, his spectacles still tilted sideways as he watched the builder adjust the coarse fabric with a frown.
He cleared his throat, trying to regain his scribe dignity, "the census registration requires a surname, or at least a record of your origin for the regional tax ledger."
Ferra turned her eyes toward him, "dragon-blood crafters carry no surname, we are recorded by the marks of our hammers, so write that down if your paper has room."
Marrick whined, dipping his pen with a hand that still trembled slightly, "the Crown does not accept hammer drawings as valid names for tax exemptions, My Lord."
