"Are you sure this worked?" she very carefully does not say.

Can you imagine the base ingratitude? She almost took a dip in a caged star. She has an arm after all of that! She should be singing the machine freak's praises!

Not, you know, worrying.

It's just that...

She tries, as hard as she can, to wiggle a finger. Come on, thumb, you can do it. Signs of life, people. Something to show that she actually still has an arm, and not just some clay mumbled over by a priest of Ares.

And he won't let her touch it, either. Every time she reaches for it, it's another metallic slap on the wrist. It's not dry, he says. It has to cure before she'll regain sensation. If Alexa touches it, she'll leave indelible marks. Does she want that? Because if so, by all means, be his guest, see if he helps again.

It can't be a trick, can it? What does Iskarot stand to gain from this?

***

She decides that having sensation in the arm is even worse.

Oh, sure. Having a club arm that she couldn't touch was bad. But having a club arm that she can't touch and which [i]itches[/i] as it dries? 

Torture. That's what Iskarot gets out of this. He's making a point, she knows. "Make sure this doesn't happen again."

The worst thing is feeling like she can't help. The crew has been very understanding, and have taken up the slack. But it kills her to watch Redana doing temple duties, and Isty drilling with Galnius, and be unable to join in. 

Useless. It's the worst feeling.

***

Iskarot, after endless days of monitoring and testing and trials, has finally approved her arm for motion. Provided, of course, that she takes it easy, no strenuous activity, and no sticking arms in the Engine.

Which means, of course, the training ground is littered with broken spears.

Hera and Aphrodite, she's missed this.