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She laid it down with care and bowed once more, remaining still.

Masanori did not touch the gifts.

He studied them, then he studied her.

And Fae, steady at last, spoke the answer she had rehearsed after days of being tutored by Feraal as an artisan asking to be shaped by fire and patience.

Fae lowered herself again, deeper this time, forehead close to the mat.

When she spoke, her voice was steady, the words Miyuki had coached into her memory chosen with care.

"This unworthy one begs forgiveness for presenting such poor offerings," she said, eyes downcast. "They are crude, made by unskilled hands, and scarcely fit to be seen by a master. Still, with humility, I place them before you."

She slid the first gift forward.

"The carving is flawed," she continued softly. "The grain was stubborn. My hands were not wise enough to persuade it."

Then the second.

"This tea is simple; the herbs are common. I only hope that their balance is not offensive."

And the third.

"The cloth was woven by others far more skilled than I. I have done nothing to deserve it."

She bowed and fell silent.

His brown gaze was sharp and penetrating, and Fae felt he could see right through her.

"Show me your hands, girl."

He looked at her hands—callused, scarred and honest.

At last, he reached forward and lifted the box, turned it, ran a finger along the carved lines.

"Fenrir," he said.

"Yes," Fae replied quietly, eyes still lowered.

"Why?"

"Because he is consequence," she said. "And when I crafted this, I was thinking of actions and consequences."

Masanori considered that.

He opened the tea, inhaled once. Then he lifted the linen, letting it fall through his hands, feeling its weight and weave.

"The gifts are appropriate," he said at last.

He set them aside and looked at her fully. "Why do you wish to become my student?"

Fae was expecting the question, but it took her a moment to gather her thoughts.

"I have lived my life in service," she said quietly. "First to my parents' pack, then to my mate and to the children of his household. I do not regret this. It was the path given to me, and I walked it as faithfully as I could."

Her fingers tightened briefly in the folds of her sleeve, then relaxed. "But when all else fell away, my craft remained. It did not turn from me; it did not ask me to be other than what I am. When I work, my hands know what to do, even when my heart does not."

She lifted her eyes. "I seek to learn properly. To unlearn what I was never taught correctly, and to place my work on a foundation that will not break when tested. I trust my craft to carry me through what lies ahead, because it already has."