Dutifully, she retreated a few more feet. At first, she had childishly thought herself spoiled goods. She was a wrecked soul; he would have ever right to want her far away from him. But pragmatism soon returned to her head when the bloodlust drained away, and she saw that he was about to set to work. His request for space was a kind of caring in and of itself, and so she slid back a little farther.

Even so, she watched his work with interest. She had come through a forge of her own, this past year. It was strange to watch dirty things turn to sleek liquid, and suddenly have an image which matched the way she sometimes felt. Hot rage made to obey, poured into molds.