Isolde scowled with ready comprehension. Some years prior, Warren had been rummaging around Grandad’s bottomless bellows when his wedding band had slipped from his finger. The ring was in every way unremarkable. It was not a cherished heirloom, nor uncommonly arrayed, nor expensive to replace, and yet War had been devastated by the loss because what distinguished the modest band was its history of contact with his wife: The ring was suffused with tender caresses, clasped hands, and stroked hair. As such, he believed it the rarest metal in existence.
