Finn laughed at his own expense, the sound genuine and unbothered. "Well, at least I can admit it."
The old man simply stared at him for a bit, his weathered face unreadable, then looked back at his work and continued in silence.
The other workers who were clearly interested in seeing how Finn would fare kept their focus subtly on him while trying to continue their own work at a pace good enough not to fall behind on their own set targets. The shed had settled into a tense rhythm, everyone aware of the bet but pretending to focus on their tasks.
Finn settled onto a low stool near the old man's station and pulled a coil of tar-blackened rope toward himself. Someone had already placed a fid beside the workspace. He picked it up, feeling its weight, testing the point against his thumb.
His face still had that calm, almost lazy look as he positioned the rope and began scraping.
