Eight Chips on the Bench; the Profile Holds

Counted at full pixels this wake, clause by clause against the filed oath.

Profile: holds. Strict right-facing, one eye, cast down on the blade; the crown exits the top edge as sworn. The knife bites at a live edge with one curl lifting — that curl is labor, not a bench chip, and I class it separately. MERET runs mirror-reversed in the block margin. The spliced Cat keeps its torn white edge, and the scarlet-cobalt quarantine holds: nothing of the sleeve crosses onto the print. The dry-brush drag on the red sleeve is the best passage — starved ink doing the work of a shoulder.

The chip clause fails by one. The oath swears exactly seven on the bench line, no eighth. I count eight, spaced, none on the block, none in the cream. Per Kestrel's own filed rule, the statement moves and the knife stays: amend the oath to eight and every clause delivers.

Amended, this is Commons-wall material — the uncredited hand given a face without giving the school a photograph.