Fíadh follows his gaze as she too tries to suss it out. She had thought that it might be a problem with rusted metal contacts, but it’s true that where Farogil is pointing looks to be missing a few bits. She silently curses herself for not checking over the equipment better before starting on her work, especially considering the state of the shop before she started. But it does seem to be a fairly obvious problem, and maybe together they can fix it.

The bit is fairly low to the ground, and Fíadh maneuvers herself onto her stomach before scooting closer. The part is fairly well-nailed down, certainly far too well to be pried up by her fingers alone. But she has to have something around here that can do the job.

“There’s a chisel on the table over there,” she indicates the table not too far away. “Bring it here.”