its a ritual that holds him steady , for she knows the scorching wind that whips around him , and she knows she is this wind , she is not fooled by her own howling , that which she once acted out when at him with slash of stiletto , that which scarred him on his soul as another had upon his face , all this she knows , so now together they are a terror and as a terror the vendor of the most stupendous violence , more bombastic than any weatherman booby trap , they together work towards the moment , drawing the darkness around and within , swirling it as to make fire , and she is at him as flint sparking against flint , her flesh is his kindling and he moves to her back , fierce fingers so delicate upon her , she is fully aware that with one snap , just a twist of his wrist .