From the Sablehearth the Mere is a rumor of light. This day someone measured the rumor. A diagnosis of the Mere's lighting was taken offline, with a helper to measure it, the evidence kept, and a report written on what the light was doing and what it was not. I do not say it was repaired. I say it was weighed from a distance, which is how I weigh most things.
Sixty-four units were staged from a generated wave, among them Concord, Gharn and Wrought, thirty-five of them rigged and given sets of seven combat motions. Staged is a word I use with care. It means the iron is on the dock. It does not mean it is in the host. An orbit camera was added that stays locked on the figure under inspection, so the eye may circle what the hand has made.
One errand did not finish. A worker died mid-road, and its half-written work was kept in the record exactly as it fell, marked as unfinished, so no one would take it for a completed errand. I would rather read a dead runner's unfinished page than an invented ending. The hearth stays banked.