Long ago Rutile had made peace with the knowledge that they are not the most glamorous gem around; their gold and currant red simply can't compete with the saturated hues and adamantine gleams of the other gems, and that is fine. But the Fool's soft exclamations of wonder, both at their trade and at their form, are hardly unwelcome. Their smile grows, almost imperceptibly, with his admiration.

They are about to ask after the Fool's own experience when he poses a different question entirely: "Does it not cause you pain...?"

Rutile is startled a bit by the question, and more by the troubled look in the Fool's eyes. Their hand falters. "No," they say. "At least, not personally. There is some amount of discomfort in a patient when attaching prosthetics, but that is due to observing the procedure rather than any intrinsic sensation. You see, anything tougher or harder than our own ratings will do damage if it so much as grinds the wrong way," they explain. "We don't feel it, but we can imagine it. The imagining is worse than anything else."

They begin to pull their glove back on, sliding it deftly around their wrist. "But you mention you have performed a similar duty once. Is that were you learned such meticulous carving?" Wood is a surprising medium for such a trade, but after their experience working with metal, they will not soon pass judgment.