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lightly, but in the force of his passion his hands clenched tight, and when they fell away, trembling, they grasped a whole wisp of her hairs, not the single one he had need of. But this they could smile at, for he in turn bore the impress of her nails upon his back, sharp as talons. Later, when she slept, he padded over to the chest where her cloak was bestowed, unlocked it and very softly raised the lid. There lay the cloak, gleaming so white in the faint light that when he lifted one corner the blackness of the lining seemed absolute, and he had to riffle the little feathers with his fingers to find their roots. At last he chose one, inconspicuous yet near the garment's edge, caught it between finger and thumb and plucked it loose. There was a sudden slight gasp, and to his horror he heard Kara whimper in her sleep, looked up and saw her, curled up on her side, straighten out suddenly and reach up to rub at one shoulder. He felt moisture on his fingers, a slight warm stickiness he could not mistake, and froze unmoving where he knelt. But her eyes did not open, her arm fell away onto her breast and she slipped back once more into sleep. When he dared move again he reached down, caught the cloak between his fingers; beneath the feathers he felt some fine silken fabric against the outer cloak, no more. He folded it back carefully into the chest, smoothing it with what was almost a caress, and quietly locked the lid once more. He rose shakily to his feet, sick with self-disgust half minded to hurl away the feather and the hairs he clutched, sticky with a spot of drying blood. But instead he forced himself to tuck them into the fold of cotton he had laid ready, and returned it to the aumbry. Then, clambering back into bed, he reached out almost desperately to Kara; sleepily she came to him and clung, and he buried his face in the warmth of her shoulder Had she woken then, he might still have blurted out what was on his mind; but sleep held her as fast as any human. So it overtook Elof also, and so the first light woke them, to love again half sleeping and in loving, forget. By the coming of the day Elof's doubts had receded like a troubled dream, and it was easy to blame the blood on one of his own smarting scratches.
    The next day, in between his official duties, he set about further extracting the pure silver from the reduced ore by amalgamating it with quicksilver, a subtle but hazardous process. Only after there was no further chance of fumes could he bolt the doors of his forge and lay out his prizes upon a scrubbed clean workbench, guarding against the least draught that might snatch them away. For a while he toyed with them, setting the lock of hair and the feather together in various ways till he had an arrangement that pleased him; he chalked a quick sketch of it upon a slate, multiplied it to form a frieze, then drew the frieze in various perspectives, in circles, rings, spirals. And it was as he completed' the spiral design that he found himself humming again, those first faint serpentine phrases of the new song, ever more clearly. A spiral… He took up the shape he had already made. A flowing spiral of feathers interwoven with locks of hair, winding forever onward… but winding about a torus, and so coming forever back upon itself. Free, yet unchanging, forever fleeing yet forever returning… He nodded to himself. It would take great care, but it could be done. He scrubbed his crude sketch from the slate, took up ink and parchment pieces, and set to work constructing a large and intricate version of the design. It took him many hours, and several false starts, and all the while singing softly to himself. The floor around him was littered with discarded sheets, and when he had at last finished he was careful to gather these and thrust them into the forge. The parchments curled and whined and sizzled like living things upon the hot coals, but he scarcely noticed; his hands were already upon the wax, probing its