When the rust...

Sheela was looking at the bloody wave that progressively invaded the surface of the lake. It was spreading in a semi-circle, swarming on the water like an army of tiny creatures assaulting the last clean stretch of water before her shore. It was yet a bit afar, though it seemed it had gained ground since the last time. It moved with a slow impatience that was all too frightening.

"It’s time to go home, miss Sheela. It’s not safe to stay."

The girl turned towards the voice. How long had he been here? Max could be as silent as a cat or as noisy as a newly-wed string of cans. He was tonight in a furtive mode.
– I made the rust retreat, Max.

She could swear there had been the shadow of a smile on his face. Maybe. It was so difficult to tell. He didn’t have a very varied set of expressions.
– The rust doesn’t retreat, miss Sheela.