Malcolm brightens a little. "Really?" He moves to the dough, reaching for it almost cautiously, squishing it between his fingers as he folds it over and pushes it into a ball. "The last time I touched dough like this was when I used to go to the kitchen to watch my mother's housekeeper make bread. I asked if I could try it - the kneading - and she let me. But my mother came in after, like, one turn and told me to get out of the kitchen before someone mistook me for a short order cook."

He folds it and pushes it again.

"It feels nice. It's... warmer than I expected."