Bartholomew settled at his workbench and picked up a thin rib bone. He turned it slowly in his clawed fingers, studying its curve. His yellow eyes traced every ridge and hollow. He needed to learn how bones worked before he could shape them into jewelry. He carried an armful of bones to the wooden wash basin he'd set up outside. The basin stood on three sturdy legs near his workspace. He poured water from a bucket and dropped the bones in one by one. Dirt swirled away as he rubbed each piece with his thumbs. A small vertebra felt smooth after cleaning. A curved rib revealed tiny cracks he hadn't seen before. He would need to inspect every bone this carefully if he wanted to make jewelry that wouldn't break. As the sun dropped behind the trees, Bartholomew pulled out his cart and placed a tall lamp on top. He struck a match and lit the wick. Glowing orbs cast light across the cart's surface, making the wood shine. Customers at the night bazaar would need to see his work clearly. He studied how the light fell on the cleaned bones he'd arranged nearby. The glow made them look almost magical. He nodded to himself. This was how he would learn—one bone at a time, one lesson at a time, until he was ready.