Public A Bearable Introduction

[Grigory the Bear]

"Da, you can make them. Heat metal up real hot, until it glows, then bang it with a hammer until it takes shape. Is fun."

For improvised weapons, the cub honestly hadn't done too poorly for herself. They were crude, to be sure, but from the look of them, sturdy and well balanced. That took a good eye, a skilled hand, and a lot of patience, especially if you had to resort to grinding bits of scrap against whatever broken bricks you could find to serve as a whetstone. Modern durasteels were incredibly resilient, and that made them even harder to work with. Many amateur bladesmiths, he knew, preferred the old fashioned carbon steel, because it was so much easier to work with, but it was something of an antique in this day and age. Most scrap metal was the more modern alloy.

"What you made so far, is good start. I think you will be excellent bladesmith, with a little practice. No need to worry about grenades for now. We can grab them later. Just something to remember before we leave."

Grigory was starting to realize the scope of the project he'd taken on, accepting Matryoshka as a ward. She was a sweet cub, deep down, but had lived a hard life. She wore the signs of abuse all over both her body and her psyche. That saddened him. Cubs were meant to be protected and cared for, nurtured and loved. He knew that he wasn't anyone's idea of nurturing. For all he cared about the wayward cubs who crossed his path, Grigory was a predator. He hunted and killed sapient beings for sport and for food. This was not a normal or natural life, and that too saddened him.

In a perfect world, he wouldn't have to stalk the darkness, looking for worse predators than himself to eat. In a perfect world, he would settle down and open an orphanage, to care for the cubs who lost their parents through normal means. But, the world wasn't perfect. It was cold and cruel, and would take beings like Matryoshka, chew them up, and spit them out, leaving nothing but broken remains. All he could do was try to piece them back together, and teach them to survive in such a world.

"It is time now for me to sleep, I think. Maybe you sleep, too? Much to do tomorrow, busy day."

Daal

 

[Daal]

Daal had seen metal heated until it glowed in the past, usually while something else burned to the ground, but she never understood much about it other than it being hot. If she had known that would make it easier to work with, her tools would have been more than sharpened bits of rusty scrap. It was rare that anybody offered to teach her anything, in the past she had only been able to learn sewing because someone had taken pity on her, and thought teaching her to mend her own clothes would prevent her from roaming the streets in tattered rags. It was wishful thinking, however, as she still ended up in tattered rags over time. Certainly, the skill made sure her clothes covered her body for longer before needing replacement, but suitable material was rarely obtained, and never in large enough amounts to make something of a higher quality.

She did find, however, that her skill with a needle also carried over to mending her own flesh, as the need to suture her own wounds had become a routine that she slowly outgrew with experience. She had become more careful, and learned to avoid getting hurt. Naturally, for her that came with the talent of hurting others. After all, if she hurt them before they hurt her, she'd be safer for it. Learning to make her own blades, more suited to her tastes, would help act as a means to an end for that goal.

"I think I would like that."

By now, knew what sort of blades she preferred, if she even used blades. Sometimes she needed something big and heavy, other times something pointy was sufficient. She admired ones with a smooth, arching curve in the blade, as well as long, thin blades she could quickly use to put someone down. Perhaps a way to carry them that wouldn't scrape or prick her skin would be possible, too.

Excitement was brewing in her mind, an opportunity that felt rare was before her and she was eager to take the bear up on his offer. She decided to lay down at the bear's suggestion, even though she was too excited to sleep right away, she pondered what sort of things she would be able to make for herself. Would she be able to use this experience to help her learn to control her power? Her mind was uncertain, but she felt with the bear's guidance it would come in time.

Hours later, her mind finally quieted as she once again dreamt of stars.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

The next day was full of three things: the clang of the hammer against an improvised anvil, the heat of the furnace scorching the air, and Grigory's profanities as little bits of fur kept getting singed by sparks.

He had spent the morning collecting the necessary materials for forging. Their forge was a bit on the ramshackle style, essentially an old satellite dish with the bottom cut out and replaced with a grate, a length of hose, and a blower motor, all resting on four metal legs hastily tack welded to the dish to keep it up off the ground. It was a coal burning model, not nearly as controllable as a gas burner, but it got the job done. Their anvil was made from a section of railroad track, case hardened to give it some resistance to the impact of hammer on steel. Fortunately, the warehouse had an old belt grinder they could use, when it came to that. It was old and not in the best shape, but at least there were fresh belts.

For the most part, Grigory was simply demonstrating the process to Matryoshka. He was sufficiently out of practice enough that they weren't going to create any great masterpieces, but it wasn't hard to do a simple bowie blade, especially not with his catastrophic strength. The hardest part of the whole ordeal was keeping the coal forge from overcooking the steel. It was very easy to get the coal too hot, and instead if a malleable chunk of metal that could be beaten into the shape of a knife, you got a mess that threw out sparks and burned away patches of fur.

Needless to say, the air smelled of smoke, hot steel, and burning hair by the time the blade was in the appropriate shape and ready for the quench. It was ugly as sin, but most of that could be fixed on the grinder, and at any rate, it was nice and solid.

"Alright, now is your turn," Grigory said, handing the hammer over to the cub. "Just like I showed you. Take your time, let the steel tell you what it wants to do."

Daal

 

[Daal]

She was dressed a little differently today. The usual thick, black robe was laid aside, but she still wore her usual clothes. They were natural fibers, according to the bear, so they would not melt to her skin if they caught fire or got too hot. The robe was too, the Rodian spared no expense when it came to his spare wardrobe in the safehouse, but the bear had told her she'd overheat herself if she tried to wear it while attempting this project. Per his advice, she would listen, it was quite loose on her body anyway, and it was bound to get caught and cause an accident. For today, she would just be gray, with her long, dark hair tied up on the back of her head with a strip of cloth she had torn from the remaining clothing downstairs. It wasn't comfortable to tie it up this way, usually she'd start getting a headache after too long, and something about the increased visibility of her face tended to make her anxious. With the assurance that nobody was around, aside from the bear, she was more comfortable than usual with this arrangement. For good measure, however, she wrapped her entire face and neck with her scarf in order to protect her skin from the heat.

Her eyes seemed to light up as she watched the bear work, heating, hammering, and cursing. It wouldn't be difficult to repeat the process her was showing her, after all, it mostly relied on understand what color to heat the metal to before she could begin to hammer it. She was surprised her handed her such a normal-sized hammer, after all, she had expected something much more bear-sized. It felt a little heavy in her hand, as many of her tools had until she started swinging them. There were some other basic tools to use, substitutions, he explained, for the preferred tools of this trade. Pliers instead of tongs, for instance, not to mention the makeshift nature of their forge. Most of his regular tools were on the larger side, and she, well, was not. She had at least started to gain a healthy amount of weight from the bear's cooking, no longer looking as gaunt and malnourished as she did when they first met. Still, it was not lost on her that she was not a five-meter-tall bear. Besides, he didn't even need tools for some feats such as retrieving the hot metal from the fire. She would not be so lucky, since she didn't have much of a grasp on her own abilities. She was lucky, however, that the bear happened to have some thick gloves laying around for her to use in order to protect her hands from both the heat and the shock of the hammering.

Following the bears instructions, she began to do as he had shown her. She wanted to start simple, and at least replace her weapon that she had from the night they met. This time, she'd be able to do it right. She pulled a centimeter-thick rod from a nearby pile of scrape, and began the process of heating up one end. The rod itself was currently about half a meter long, and she hoped for a beginner's project it wouldn't be too difficult to work with.

Once the end was bright red, as the bear had shown her, she pulled the rod from the fire and began to hammer away on their makeshift anvil. Her arms weren't quite accustomed to such consistent physical exertion, and they began to tired rather quickly. Despite that, she was quite determined to make what she had set out to create. She began by hammering eight centimeters over at an angle, and used another rod as a fulcrum to hammer it back around, flush with the rest of the rod. She made sure there would be no gap, although short of being welded together she found that this would be easier said than done. Essentially, she had created an loop at the base of the rod, in a shape similar to her own eye. When she was satisfied with her results, she quenched the rod as the bear had shown her in water. With that out of the way, she switched her attention to the other end of the rod, and heated it up to the same shade of red to begin hammering away once again. This time, she shaped the blunt end of the rod into a point, as she attempted to flatten it a fair amount as well. She didn't want it to be too thin, the bear had cautioned her against it, and she knew firsthand how easily a blade that was too thin could break. It didn't matter, she had focused on the shape she was going for in her mind, and it seemed the rest of her mind was willing to let her focus on her creation. As long as she was being productive, she reasoned, there wasn't anything she could complain about.

But damn, my arms are killing me.

A couple of hours later, she had sufficiently hammered the metal into a shape she was happy with. It took a few repeat trips to the forge, in order to reheat the metal to that bright shade of glowing red so she could continue hammering it flat. Her eyes were quite tired from staring into the fire, in order to observe the changes to the metal. During these pauses, though, it gave her something to ponder over. If she could try to reach out and imagine the force flowing through her, the same way she felt the heat radiating over her body from the fire and metal, maybe this could serve as a focal point for her to meditate on. The activity itself was moderately soothing to her, and if she could continue to increase her arsenal to her skillset, she could do this often. For now, though, she would focus on the results.

She quenched her creation in water one last time, and took it to the belt grinder that the bear had shown her. It was a curious contraption, she hadn't often seen machinery like this running, although she had frequently found similar devices scatter throughout the scrap heaps she'd spent her life scavenging through. She was able to smooth the edges on her project, as well as sharpen the parts that needed sharpening. The bear had explained to her that, with the right tools, she could cut into metal in a similar fashion to shape it, but that a tool like this would be needed in order to properly remove any burrs that process would create. Anything that would snag metal, would snag skin, and in some cases it was better that she didn't accidentally snag her own flesh instead. Hammering the metal, in this case, removed most of the rough edges from the surface, and even flaked away much of the rust. Still, this grinder also worked to polish metal as well, and once she had smoothed the surface and removed the black carbon deposits from the fire, the bear helped her switch to a finer grit in order to make it even smoother, shinier, even. First, though, they would heat it up again and then quench it in oil. She didn't understand why, the bear only told her it would be stronger because of it, and recommended this process every time she made her own tools like this. After that, he explained, they would polish it the rest of the way to make it smooth.

In the end, she had basically created a large sewing needle, approximately 42cm long, that had been sharped like a spear up the half of the shaft that led to the tip. Her eyes lit up at the finished results, and something uneasy rippled through the air around her, as if other parts of her were equally satisfied, if not more. Underneath her scarf, a wide smile broke across her face. It was the first time she had ever crafted something so skillfully, it made her wish that she could sew with the machines as well, perhaps then she could stitch together something with equal amounts of satisfaction.

Now, she just needed to thread the needle.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

"Hmmm. Needle, eh? I know just the thing."

In the process of divesting the bunker of all its valuables, the pair had come across an astounding amount of armorweave. The material was thin, lightweight, flexible, and absurdly tough. You could easily stop a blaster bolt or ten with nothing heavier than a suit jacket, and although the kinetic energy transfer was still painful as all get out, it was still good for most handgun bullets, and a few rifle rounds. Unfortunately, none of it had been sized properly for the cub, as she was a good twenty centimeters taller than the Rodian to whom they had belonged, and at least thirty kilograms lighter. Trying to resize the circus tents was a nonstarter. There had been a handful of cocktail dresses and other assorted clubwear that would fit her fairly well, but none of it was armorweave. Hell, it was barely enough to armor one's dignity.

Armorweave wasn't an especially difficult material to come across, but it was notoriously difficult to work without the proper equipment, and no one had ever accused Grigory of being a seamstress. Fortunately, he had, on occasion, dabbled in ropemaking, and that was precisely what he set out to do.

Using his brain arms, he tore several garments into strips, roughly two centimeters wide and sixty centimeters long. It wasn't possible to fuse the ends with heat, since armorweave could shrug off the heat of a blaster with ease, much less their makeshift forge, but he was able to splice several strips together with a bit of the resilient thread. It was a temporary fix, but it only had to hold until he could braid and weave the strips into a cord.

Using all seven of his brain hands, he worked at the strips of fabric, first splicing strips, then braiding them into cords, then weaving them into a long, thin, but impossibly sturdy length of rope. The colors were a garish mishmash of reds, pinks, blues, and yellows, all in shades of neon. The end result was almost painfully bright to look at. But, at ten meters in length and a little over two centimeters in diameter, no one could complain about its utility. A well made rope of those dimensions, in this material, could haul three bears the size of Grigory up a mountain, assuming the person on the other end had the wherewithal to pull them up.

All that was left was to thread the fiber through the needle, then secure it. That, he would leave to Matryoshka.

"There. Ought to be able to stitch quite the wound with that, da?"

Daal

 

[Daal]

While watching the bear work, she admired her own creation. Being able to create this with her own hands satisfied her greatly, and made her feel quite empowered by the experience. As long as she could generate enough heat, this new skill would be very useful for the times when she required new weapons. Even needles break or go dull, and have to be restored or replaced at times. This needle, if it could still be called as such, was made to puncture more than just cloth. As she held it in her hands, she began to think of new projects she could begin to work on. After all, there was more than one type of sewing needle, and each one served its purpose as designed.

The bear completed his work, and passed her quite a lengthy bundle of rope. Armorweave, he called it, and said it would resist being cut or burned by most weapons, even lightsabers for a short time, whatever those were. It felt light in her hands, and while it was rather stiff, she knew the fibers would relax over time and become easier to manipulate, unlike the metal cable she had normally scrounged up in the past. She got to work immediately, flexing the rope back and forth at the very end a few times. Once it felt like it had loosened up enough, she began to feed it through the eye of her needle. It was difficult, at first, as threading a needle tends to be, but once she got the first few centimeters through it took no time at all to pull a full meter through the rest of the way. Her hands, relatively sore but ready to work once again, began to do what they were experienced at. Sitting on the dirty warehouse floor, she laid her needle and rope out in front of her, lined her elbow up with the eye of the needle, and laid her forearm out alongside the length of rope. From there, she began to loosely wrap the meter of rope around her forearm in a spiral, and when she had passed enough loops around her arm to use most of that full meter, she pulled her arm out and left the rope she had wrapped, and then pulled the remaining meter down and passed it up the center of the spiral. From there, she stood up, planted her feet firmly over the needle, and pulled the spiraled rope tightly to complete the knot. Several centimeters of extra rope dangled out the top of the spiral, but that was okay, if needed she could pull it tight with that extra bit of length, With her feet still planted on the needle, she pulled the main section of rope tight, and it creaked a little bit as the knot tightened further.

I think you've outdone yourself this time.

Now that the work was completed, it was time to see how the weight felt when put to use. She picked up the needle in her left hand, took the rope in her right hand, fed it some slack and then began to swing it. The weight was decent, not the heaviest tool she'd used this way, but not the lightest, either. The rope began to swing faster, as she got a feel for the way it would move. It was more comfortable to manipulate than the thin cables she had used in the past, which would dig and cut into her skin if she was not careful with how tightly she wrapped it around herself, or pulled too hard with her fingers. Not to mention the countless times she had pricked herself with rusty, frayed wires.

"It feels good. I think this will work well."

She stopped swinging the rope and let the new blade stop swinging, as it dangled toward the cold floor. A bunch of ideas were scrolling through her mind, she knew so many different types of needles and so many more different ways to use them. Frankly, it would bother her more if she didn't bring these ideas to life. She brought this up to the bear, who stated the obvious to her which was that they still had plenty of time to stay holed up here, and that she had an entire warehouse at her disposal. Opportunities like this didn't present themselves too often, even to the bear, who gave her his blessing and encouragement to make whatever she wanted.

Under one condition.

She must try to train herself to use this "Force" he kept talking about. Not all the time, but as often as she felt rested enough to do so. Her body was used to taking the strain of her life, but her mind was still delicate and he expressed that he did not want her to overdo it. She agreed to his condition.

During the course of the next few days, a constant loud clanging echoed throughout the warehouse. When there wasn't clanging, there was the whirring and screeching of machinery as metal was ground away in a shower of sparks. She had burned herself a few times, and pricked herself a few more times. If anything, it was more impressive that she hadn't smashed her slender fingers with the hammer. For the most part, she was careful when she worked, and as long as she worked, she was distracted, and therefore her own insecurities would not get the best of her.

There were quiet times, too, usually once a day she would stop to meditate, usually when the bear was out doing, well, bear stuff. She didn't like to pry into his business, and it seemed at the same time her would not pry into hers, as long as she seemed to still be producing visible results. Therefore, when he left, she'd use the quiet solitude to try and focus herself. It was easier to do when her body was sore, and tired from the work she had been doing. From working with fire so much, it became easier to meditate on it, and after a few misses, followed by several vague flickers and near-misses, she was able to reach out and connect to this mysterious energy. It didn't feel as though anything was happening when she did, and she rarely managed to sustain this feeling long enough to become comfortable with it. Her own doubts would end the silence, her own memories would cause her to stumble, or she'd lose focus from an unfamiliar noise, which, in her life she had learned to not simply tune out. When the silence was over, and her muscles were rested, it was back to work.

Most of her new tools resembled her first one, by design they were sewing needles of varying lengths, thicknesses, curvatures, and sharpness. Some were long and heavy, others were light, and short. She was excited about all of them, but had trouble making use of the longer ones. Her wrists seemed to strain under the weight no matter how it was distributed, and the bear explained to her that if she was having trouble holding it, she'd have even more trouble swinging it, let alone blocking with it. It was no matter, she would keep them just the same, and make versions that were easier to hold. She found that she was quite comfortable with a spear, and even managed to produce a couple of those with the same style of needle eyes at the opposite end from the sharp, triangular tip. Sailmakers, she had called them, though she explained that that particular type of needle was obsolete for her purposes, beyond the use of stitching skin back together, since the bladed needle was design to cut as it pierced. As she practiced her craft, she began to feel comfortable trying new techniques as the bear showed them to her, in order to produce tools of better quality. He wasn't always able to do it himself, but he was knowledgeable enough to tell her in detail how to accomplish the results.

After a noticeable amount of time had passed, Daal had managed to equip herself with many proper new tools to work with. She had an array of extras, including the ones deemed too large to be used by her, which she had offered to the bear as well. After all, he seemed to specialize in impractically large weapons, perhaps impractically large tools could be of equal value.

It was difficult, but she had also learned to feel this Force the bear continued to lecture her on, however she was not any closer to controlling it at-will.

Her clothes had also become dirty and worn, but fortunately for her the Rodian kept extras handy down in the bunker, which she had also been able to explore a bit more.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

The needles that Matryoshka couldn't use, Grigory found extremely useful.

He had to admit, the cub did excellent work, and what's more, she kept improving steadily with each new implement. Most beginner smiths managed, at best, one workable knife for every 10 failures. The cub was running in the opposite direction. For every failure, she had ten successes, and it was all he could do to keep enough scrap steel on hand of sufficient quality for her to work with. When she had offered the ones she couldn't use to him, Grigory had nearly wept with pride. The cub had a natural gift, and he was only too happy to encourage it as much as possible. If going into battle with oversized sewing needles hadn't been his thing before, it certainly was now.

Hell, the things were devastating when he used them with his brain arms. The short ones were devastating up close, weighty enough to punch through thicker materials, but handy enough that he didn't have to worry about overcommitting. The longer needles were excellent for blocking and parrying, and were well balanced enough to be lightning quick when used in the rapier style. His brain arms were, for all practical intents and purposes, regular arms brought to life with the Force, with all the strengths and limitations imposed upon corporeal ones. They were invisible, sure, but they were subject to things like inertia. Having well balanced melee weapons he could effectively use with them was a blessing.

Grigory tried not to interfere overmuch with the cub's Force training, however. That seemed to be a near constant source of frustration for her. She was immensely powerful, that much was clear, but she seemed to have a lot of trouble consciously using the power. Sometimes, as he came back from hunts, he could hear a bit of the other Dolls berating her for her failures in that department. That saddened him. The other Dolls, he didn't like so much. They were overly critical, and magnified the slightest frustration into abject failure, in her mind if no one else's.

Using the Force was a skill that took most beings a lifetime to master. Of course she wasn't going to pick it up over a few short weeks. It seemed counterintuitive, but maybe it was her dramatic success at learning forging that held her back. A natural talent was a wonderful thing, but if one expected to pick up everything as quickly, they were bound for disappointment. That seemed to be a common trait among humans. Patience simply wasn't a thing they came across naturally. If they weren't immediately experts at a new skill, most of them would abandon it altogether after a few failures. Being a bear, he was used to waiting as long as necessary for things to fall into place. Impatient hunters tended to starve, and that same discipline could be applied to just about anything.

But what if there was a way to bridge the skills of forging and Force use?

"I have idea," Grigory said one morning over breakfast. He'd prepared a hearty dish of scrambled eggs, fish from the nearby river, and wild rice. It was simple, but hearty and nutritious. "What if you look at Force like the steel in fire? What you want to do is steel, Force is forge. Get it hot enough, bring into existence. Is worth a try, da? I am hunting today, but think on it, Matryoshka. You may not think so, but old Grigory thinks you are make great progress. Maybe make more progress if you treat the Force like you do your forge work."

Daal

 

[Daal]

Daal scarfed down the food the bear had given her as though she hadn't eaten in days. She had, of course, but the work of forging used a lot of energy, and her body's metabolism had increased dramatically since she had been eating regularly with the bear. By now, she was back to a healthy weight, and a far more suitable color flushed across her face. She was still pale, of course, but she didn't look severely malnourished at the same time, which was comforting. The bear's words intrigued her, and she sat to ponder them as he left to go hunting.

Every word made sense, but she had a hard time picturing it. After all, the steel was only to take shape because she wasn't giving it a choice in the matter. It had no will, it had no say in what anyone decided to do with it.

Just like you, at one point.

A haunting, sinking feeling plummeted down her spine.

Forced by your own hand, it takes shape. And forced by the hands of others, so did you.

Her anger quickly began to seethe. Was this anger? It felt stronger. It didn't matter, she felt stronger, too. She stood and headed to the forge. There was a thick, flat piece that she wanted to try shaping today as she placed it into the fire. A medium-length pointed, tapered blade with a gradual curve would be ideal. Her other tools were based on her sewing needles. This one would certainly be a blade, but she still wanted to retain the loop at the end. With that determination in mind, she got to work. The heat from the forge washed over her once again, and into it went her focus. On days like this, it felt like the forge was fueled on her rage alone. As she worked, she tried to keep the flicker she felt alive, just as the heat from the forge stayed burning, ravenous for fuel in order to maintain its ferocity, her anger and disgust would fuel her will.

Why should they be able to walk away unscathed when you did not?

She pulled the glowing steel out and began to work.

You've done them a disservice by making the end quick.

The hammer swung harder as her grip tightened.

Will this quell your hatred?

Sweat dripped down her face, joined by tears.

That day, the sound of hammering would ring throughout the warehouse for most of the day. She did not stop working until the finished piece was in her hands.

Are you satisfied yet, girl?

The steel had taken shape as desired, and had been hardened, smoothed, sharpened and polished. The steel took on a darker hue than it had in the past, and felt much more dense than her previous tools. Tired arms hung limply by her side, and her legs didn't seem as though they wanted to support her any longer. She gently sat herself down with her blade in her lap, legs stretched out in front of her as she leaned back, and closed her eyes to let her mind wander. She had early memories, bits and pieces, of how she had learned to sew. An elderly woman whose face she could not remember, and a name that escaped her. What she did remember, was the warmth and kindness that she felt back then. Warmth and kindness, before things turned cold, and cruel. Those memories escaped her more and more, and always ended with a scream cut short, and the sound of broken glass.

A life never lived. It's not as though anyone got to live their own after that.

"It's not what I wanted."

But you know that what you want rarely matters in this place.

"Things are warm again."

Warm from fire. It isn't a pleasant heat. It is hungry, all-consuming and you long for it to consume yourself, too.

Her closed eyes squinted as if to shut the thoughts out, but they would not be quieted so easily. She tried to focus on the bear's words, and gripped her new blade in her hand to help her feel grounded. The smoothness of the cool steel, with a gentle, warm gradient from where it had been in contact with her legs. It calmed her to grip it in her hands, after all, she had just created it, and she was proud of it.

It was quenched in oil, you were quenched in blood. And you never stopped seeking it more, did you?

The flame continued to flicker in her mind's eye. It had grown, and crackled like the forge when she kept it lit.

You're still dripping in it.

The flame grew, roaring to consume.

Does ignoring it help you pretend it never happened?

"I'm not pretending."

She was ignoring her doubts, but she knew better than to doubt them in return. Sparking that inner dialogue was a slippery slope to losing control again. Nevertheless, the flame burned brightly. Was it always such a deep red?

Do you think you can do this forever? It won't last. You'll be cold and alone again before you know it.

Could fire drip? What was this?

You know so little about this universe and you think you're in a position to question it? Stupid girl.

All she wanted was to close her eyes for a moment, in peace. So why did it feel as though so many eyes were upon her? It felt like she was looking through them at herself, but why? The flames continued to drip. How?

You're losing it again.

Her breathing quickened fearfully, and her fingers tightened on her blade.

"It's not supposed to look like this."

And yet what else would it look like?

"It's wrong--"

Is it now? And you're an expert on this?

"It shouldn't be red!--"

Why does it frighten you, stupid girl?

"It's not supposed to be--"
"--RED!"

Without thinking, she stood up and threw her new blade into the dark. It traveled in a straight line, propelled by an unseen force. A loud crack reverberated through the air as the blade pierced into a load-bearing reinforced concrete beam. The sound snapped Daal out of her frenzy, and she stopped for a moment to take a deep breath to still her mind. Calmly, she turned to approach her blade and was stunned to find it was embedded deep into the concrete. Grabbing the hilt, she pulled with all her strength, but the blade would not budge. The bear would have to help her with this when he returned. Even if her arms weren't tired and sore, she didn't think that it could be retrieved herself.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

"боже мой!" Grigory exclaimed.

The new blade was well and truly stuck. Not even his prodigious strength could get it out without using both his real arms, and all 7 of his brain arms. The metal popped free with a scraping sound. Turning it over in his hands, the bear was surprised to find it largely undamaged. The tip was blunted, and there were scratches, but the oddly dense little needle was still straight and true.

He could tell that Matryoshka was in distress. He still wasn't great at reading moods, but he'd become fairly accustomed to picking out when the cub was in a bad way. He tried his best to be supportive, but that really wasn't his wheelhouse. He didn't get the whole human range and of emotions or their inherent complexity. When he was happy, he was happy. When he was sad, he was sad. When he was angry, he ate people. There wasn't much more to it.

What the hell. Might is well focus on the positive.

"This is excellent work," he said proudly. "Is much stronger than normal steel. Looks to me like alchemy. How did you do this?"

Daal