"Very well, let us humour each other then." She will feel, as much as hear, the change in his stance; it is as if he leans forward, shoulders raised and head lowered, like a cat preparing to pounce. "The person who made your clothes - assuming it is not one of your wretched coterie. Do you know their name? The circumstances of their birth? Their deepest aspirations? Do you lie awake wondering whether they had a good day or bad?"

He looks at the shard much the same way he did her, when they met in that other place, before he hatched here; again, there is that sense of predator circling dangerous prey. "Or did they cease to exist the moment their function - providing you with said clothes - was complete? Do you, in point of fact, think of them less often, and with less fondness, than you do your cane?"