Okay, big words, small child. Do-over. "Oh, sorry. It's a chemical that um . . . changes the . . . essence of a living thing. I could explain it in more detail but it'd take a long time."

He smiles. "My father says that a weapon is only as good as the arm that wields it. May I?" he asks, reaching out to take one of the sheathed blades. He knows better than to grab someone's sword without permission.