Yseult ran her hand down the ridge that formed the bottom edge of the bow of the Brawling Beauty. She was a tactile person; strange for someone who spent most of her time alone, but so was her girl. Sometimes she needed a firm hand to steer her, sometimes a comforting one to reassure her. She had a cold skin of metal but there was blood behind her hull and a heart within her frame. Yseult could feel the warmth deep within her, hear the faintest sound and sense the slightest vibration. Elle me chuchote… Des mots que seule moi peux entendre. [She whispers to me... words only I can hear.] She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the bow. A silent prayer. Garde-la en sécurité… et dis-lui que si j’échoue, ce ne sera pas sans combat. [Keep her safe... and let her know that when I fail her, it will not be without a fight.]