I apprenticed to a fisherman in my 14th spring. I was hauling up the pots when I felt a familiar call growing closer with every pull. The crayfish clutched at the bars of the pot, shinier than the rest in my eyes. I reached out to clutch him in turn and his claw cut my fingers. Blood spilled and struggled, and I made him mine. My soul expanded. Ink stained my forearm in the shape of his body and claws. His gift to me was his amazing grip: since that day, I do not relinquish anything easily.