T25.12 The Tentweaver, Part 1.2
The sound of the mistrain accompanied by the chaotic sounds of splashing mud from her frolicking grandson faded as she rapidly worked the yarn - no sound was made by the her needles, as a series of stitches appeared in nearly an instant, continuing the intricately patterned fabric which coiled about her tent.
But despite her concentration, a spark continued to linger in her mind - that soon lit a flame in her thoughts - seducing her mind to wander back to the passion that she had forced herself to leave behind.
If it were her during her youth, there was little doubt she would have made a mistake in the stitch at this moment.
But as she completed another pattern perfectly - she snuffed out the flame in her minds eye.
Soon all became submerged in peaceful, warm darkness - as it was meant to.
And the world became only her fingers and yarn.
Yet somehow another spark came from outside the world - this was different, not born of her thoughts.
"What do you want?" she spoke loudly in a stern voice - as the peaceful world around her turned into one of mistrain and mud.
"Please be at ease Elder Shurmo, I merely bring tidings," the voice of a young man replied from afar.
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