She has seen him before. The muscles on his back run like rope on pulleys as he manipulates the sienna mound. It's hard to see what he's working on through the lace curtain and she daren't move it in case it catches his eye. The power trips. He swears into the darkness. Her pulse quickens. She anticipates the light before it makes her squint. He is a perfect silhouette, working the clay like he's birthing a new species.
