5,100 words, to 70,100 words total. I am definitely off the map of the short story and into the middle act.
He sharpened them a while on a tiny grinder which he turned by hand. Unlike Fortune's Flight with its great kettle below decks, Southern Escape had been built for nothing but wind, wood and muscle power. No electrics here.
In time Lao Jia sat me on a little folding stool he kept braced behind a counter and went muttering work. Each snip of the shears was a heavy pull at my scalp which almost made me cry out. I held still, mouth shut and eyes half-clenched against the drizzle of tears he was drawing forth from me.
Cutting my hair was in a strange way even more painful than slashing my cheeks had been. I tried to think about why that was so. I supposed that I could cover my scars with clays and paints, or even perhaps the attentions of some physician or flesh-healer. My hair, though. It would be the work of another length of my lifetime to grow it out again.
When he was done, though, my head felt lighter. I had never considered what a weight it was, but my neck rose high and strong. "Thank you," I said in Seli, then again in Hanchu.