MABEL
With the notions already out and gone, Mabel could likely leave. He seemed to have the matter at hand, until he didn’t, and she lingered there for a moment, brow arched and contemplations scouring. Her whetstone wouldn’t do the trick; it would only sharpen and polish the edges, and the rounded proportions wouldn’t even be a possibility. “If you worked on it under some powerful, running water?” She knew the pulse and pull of the sea, but the manifestation of its strength was nothing to be sniffed at – especially after what it did to rocks and land after many, many years. “Or a certain kind of stone…” She mumbled, uncertain where to find one that would do a modifying, sanding trick.
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
and stretch my claws out
