She studies him for a long beat after, no ready thought occurring immediately to her. It is like a measuring of space, a habitual and largely unconscious flattening of world so she might compare him to all the thing surrounding him.

And then Wysteria hikes the pan a little higher under her arm, saying briskly, "Then don't expect me to know your mind well enough to be able to avoid pain. It is only natural to eventually stub a toe when moving about in a dark room."

With a flick of skirts, she wheels toward the doors leading into the house.

"There is honey wax for your hands in the usual cupboard if you care for it."