" her voice was slightly accented, but she spoke English well. She looked at his torso critically, counting the ribs in his too-thin chest."Excuse me,... Bill said. "I don't quite understand. Are you a nurse? A doctor? Where am I? What happened to my friends?" Your friends?" she asked. "That would be the men and women in the cloth hut a short distance from where you collapsed? Seven of them?" Yes!" Bill said eagerly. "Are they still there? Why didn't you rescue them, too?"Polina's voice was. I smiled when I heard him enter the bathroom and felt his calloused hands sliding over my own. Working hands, we both have working hands. We’ve both earned every scar, every callous for the sake of our craft. My hands have long lost anything feminine about them, but I’m strangely content by that – these hands can craft dreams out of metal and stones. “Hi baby,” he whispered in my ear as he rubbed my shoulder. “Productive night?” He’s stopped asking whether it was a long night long ago.. More

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