Woodman had no answer. He had only his hands, callused and quick.
Woodman examined the casting under a lamp. Its joints were microscopic, its glass lens clouded with a dust that smelled faintly of tobacco and roses. When he touched it, the humming shifted to a single clear note, and for a heartbeat he saw, not his workshop, but a corridor of lanterns and footsteps that were not his own. woodman casting x sweet cat fixed
Sweet Cat shrugged. “Things have a way of telling those who listen.” Woodman had no answer