Her hip ached from lying on her side for so long, and she longed to get up and walk around. The day was passing by, and she hadn't seen Lucio since breakfast. As interesting as watching Martin paint might be, she couldn't even see the painting when she was situated behind it, and she found it rather awkward to have Martin's intense gaze on her as he glanced back and forth between her and the canvas. The library was mostly silent except for the sound of the furious brushstrokes he administered to the canvas, an occasional muttering to himself, the tinkling of palette-knife against his palette.