What can be harder than metal or bone?'
She asked, ivory champing on the bit
And she spoke with iron, stoking,
Poking the fire.
'Fire.'

My hearth stuttered in protest, but
By blackened, guttered tongues
I could not speak
And her belief was left untouched.

There's charcoal in my breath
My lungs clutch fiery coals
She knew, she told me so
And iron only felt the touch of my chest

She stoked the flames
And from between my cagèd ribs I coughed
She held out her hand
And the yellow licked her palm, bristling

She laughed.
'What's harder than metal or bone?' she mused
And poked my chest some more.
'Fire.'