"I hope you don't mind a jury-rigged one."

And she hoped she could pull this off like she wanted. Elma moved over to one of the guard rails that separated the road from a drainage ditch, put her hands over it, then shut her eyes. A second or two, seeming longer than it was, passed before her hands shifted, fingers and thumbs stretching out like a liquid to wrap around the rail whole, then tightened. The metal crimped and buckled in complaint, but when she pulled it away, she had a few feet of railing cleanly cut from its moorings.

"I'll see what I can do to actually make it worth using."