Sava spread practice paper across the workshop table, leaving the ink and stylus within the child's reach for her own marks.
Hajin paused at the workshop doorway while the child checked where the active celestial broadcast pointed before touching the paper.
"Could they stay outside while I try names?" she asked, keeping the folded blank registration sheet tucked against her sweater.
"Yes," Hajin said, turning the stream view toward the garden and stepping back from the worktable. "Your practice belongs to you."
The broadcast followed him into the courtyard, leaving the workshop conversation and every mark on the child's page beyond its sight.
"Door open or closed?" Sava asked, waiting beside the handle instead of deciding for her.
"Open a little," she said. "I want to hear the hall, but I do not want anyone looking at my paper."
Sava left a narrow opening and moved the practice strips where passing eyes could not see what she wrote.
