When a Rhodes Island squad rescued the slender Elafia girl of about eleven or twelve from slave traffickers, she did not cry nor make any noise. Nor respond to any questions pointed at her. A considerable headache for the squad's strait-laced captain, who promptly placed the child in Beeswax's care and left to pursue the fleeing slavers. The captain in all his extroversion likely felt awkward about it, but Beeswax did not. Once she realized the child had no intention of speaking, she turned her attention instead to the jungle, fresh and verdant. After stepping away for a while, she happened to notice the girl staring at her horns. The two made eye contact, the girl immediately averted her gaze. They repeated this a few times, and then Beeswax moved to speak: 'You can touch them, if you're curious.' The girl's eyes opened wide. 'I'm not lying.' She hesitantly stood up, approached Beeswax, and cautiously, nervously reached her arm out, as if a timid fowl was on her hand. She gave the lightest touch. 'So pretty...' Something Beeswax had heard from many a horned or antlered operator before. It embarrassed and flustered her at first, but she learned in time to reply with a 'yours are wonderful, too,' as was polite. Be that so, the sight of the Elafia rescued only moments ago from slavers—soiled, undernourished, even missing a chunk from her antlers—drove a new response to her mind. 'I can make yours just as pretty. Okay?' March's spring breeze still carried a chill. The young Elafia sat on the ground. Beeswax cleared the tangle of dirty cotton from her antlers, then took out a care kit. A gauze to wipe the stains away, then a soft brush to clean the dust out from the crevices where the bone forked. The Elafia lowered her head, screwing her eyes shut, as if she were taking part in a solemn ceremony of sorts. Once the cleaning was over, Beeswax took a sanding block and a small file and worked patiently at the dried-out keratin of the Elafia's antlers, before applying a layer of essential oils with due care. All done, she brought out a miniature length of ribbon from her kit, and tied a small bow upon the antler's break. 'There we are.' Beeswax passed the girl a pocket mirror. The girl shied from looking at first, but eventually, she stole a glance, before finally fixing her gaze on it, eyes wide open. A blush bloomed across her sapped face, beyond herself with excitement. Beeswax stood up and gave a stretch, before hurriedly remembering the last step had been left undone. She gave her head a light rapping, and drew from her pocket a tiny, golden stone, wrapped tightly in thread. She tied it to the antler left unbroken, working the cord as she recited softly to the Elafia: 'May the gods bless you. May you be blessed to live in neither bondage nor hunger. May you be blessed to live as do the burning sun, the storms, and the golden plains of sand, in eternal beauty and strength.'