The story, then. His story. His hands, shaking once more against the cup, grip forlorn. He should stop, being a man, being above this. He's got — he has hands that can grip throats and... he's strong. Very strong.

They shouldn't have caught him so easily. When he looks up, eyes wet with fear and understanding, he means to whisper as much, but stops himself.

"I... I'll do better next time. I won't need to impose. But... I was back from the forge late. Working the night. I... I don't get the moulds wrong often, I don't. If there's pattern, I'm good with... but we've been cutting the silver, just times being — rough, and the string came too soft, so it..."

A pause. "Doesn't matter. Work needed redone, so I stayed and... when I came out, they took me. A lot of them. I think. Maybe I'm just hoping so, I wasn't so... useless. Imagine if it were only one or two? And me, like a sack of wheat. And they said... you know, don't fight. It'll be good for everyone. I have good looks and good hands, and... brother Sanwon will like me. So what's there to fight?"

But he did fight.