Zhi froze for a moment as if caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar, then slowly retracted her tools. She settled the notebook on her lap, opened it to a blank page (fewer and fewer of those) and gave one last look at Styrm before putting pencil to paper. Zhi was dextrous, but the fine movements necessary for letters was still unfamiliar to her. They were shaky, ill-formed things, but still recognizable. Mostly recognizable.
She looked up at Styrm. "Like that?"
She looked up at Styrm. "Like that?"
