The end of an ink-scented scroll lifts in the dockside breeze. With her braided dark navy hair gathered in front of her shoulder, Narin spreads two maps side by side and holds them down with a small brass weight. The compass tip indicates the same island, but the two plotted points are a finger's width apart.
She pushes up her glasses. When the airship tilts slightly, she presses her lips together, then turns her eyes to the maps and speaks clearly.