Yu was astonished as much as he was appalled. And then the full extent of it struck him. He really got it, at last, when Bubs slid one of the rods of the external frame through the hole of the pin jutting from below the knee. Yu understood that absolutely none of this was random. He could not grasp the full complexity of the construction, but he realised that all of this worked together. The not-sticks did not only fit into each other, they also locked with the outer frame. Inside and outside aligned: The long brown rod and all its pins shaped the leg from within, the metal exoskeleton held it against collapse, and the cage stilled the twisting of the limb from any motion from above the knee and —
Bubs looked up.
Yu jerked back from the slit and ducked, crouching low on the stool — and instantly realised how absurd that was. Embarrassing. Straight-up stupid. Bubs had seen him. It had been so sudden, so unexpected. His tweeters had hovered over the tray of pins, but instead of looking there, his head had snapped to the kitchen door, absolutely out of the blue. He had seen Yu, clearly. And yet, Yu stayed frozen, hunched like a thief caught in the act, feathers bristling and eyes locked on the metal door, bracing for it to burst open. Half-dreading Bubs would come rushing through. Half-wanting him to.
He did not.
Why, in all earnest, would he?
And what was Yu doing? What could he possibly gain from staring at the human, or from watching Bubs prise her apart and clamp her shut again?
He had no time, no strength, no focus left to question motives or to weigh outcomes. Not about the human. Not about the guards. Not about anything.
He should just …
Yu turned his head, still hunched on the stool. His gaze crawled across the kitchen.
He climbed down. His body turned to the hearth. Toward the pot of stew.
He should just do his job.
Pages:
Pages:
Pages: