And the lamb lies down on Broadway

She loves to watch him paint. It is everything to see him so peaceful.

There is the matter of his reconciliation, internally; it's a conflict she lays no claim to, no matter how fiercely she beats the opposite wing.

"Fei," Elly says gently, and observes how the disturbance causes an imperfection in the canvas, pliant below the brush, that would not have been there otherwise.

Loss is of paramount importance, even though only the lucky few experience equivalent exchange.

But Fei turns to her, cheek shinily streaked with turpentine, and suddenly she is so unearthly glad for their fleshly existence.