There, good as new. (Better than new, in a sense - Robert's shell is free of scars, and its thickness and healthy condition reflect a lifetime of easy access to sunlight, good food, and clean water for its owner. Don has never seen a shell like it. It seems almost a shame to remove a piece, but then again, it will all be gone in a few days anyway.)

Don wets the washcloth again, runs it lightly over the freshly-cleaned carapace, and begins hunting for a loose edge of scute.

"The patterns don't change, they just get bigger. I can tell right away which piece belongs to who." He responds to Robert's last statement briefly and bluntly. "I hated it."