He feels a bit like a child being taught how to ride a bike, in handling the metal and beginning his hum. At first, it's discordant. His pitch is off, but slowly, he adjusts. Clashing sounds become complimentary, and with it comes the weightless feeling in his mind of harmony.

All the while, he folds the metal, carefully and slowly. He hasn't worked on anything so tactile, beyond the inner workings of the ship, in an age. This feels more like art than it does work, with the metal bending softly under his will.

He only hands it over when he's satisfied with it feeling like a nail - a thick one, but a nail nonetheless, offering his clawed hand over to Drelasa, splayed open to offer his work.

"How is this?"