NELNIFA CORLEDIA has a weak voice. When outrage sparks because of her mistake, she diverts the attention to the real problem: the truth to why their territory is poor. This takes Nelnifa to fishing ports, weaving districts, and back to the very plac...
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The Weaver's Circle was, in fact, not a circle. It was a spot near the thickest grove of salvia where a lot of the weavers and other crafters gather while doing their work. Nobody knew how the Circle started. Water sprites were social creatures, always craving interactions with people, so it's understandable why they would choose a random spot and go there with a guarantee of talking to someone. After all, crafting was a lonely job if done alone.
Nelnifa picked her way towards the Circle, the last of the shanties peeling away from her. The sunset-colored leaves of the salvia waved at her from above, their thin fronds ranging from orange to a deep mauve and purple rustling with the wind. Underneath their shade, hundreds of crafters sat in makeshift stools of either chipped chunks of rock, wooden benches made from rough planks bound together with twine, or chopped salvia trunks with circumferences wide enough to support a butt.
The sound of leaves being dragged against the sand was the most prevalent noise, followed by the small crinkles of leaves being twisted and cut along with the various chimes and clinks of rocks, shells, and hardened clametis tubes. Footsteps slogging through the sun-baked sand was all around Nelnifa as water sprites moved in and out of her periphery. She clung to the strap of the satchel slung across her torso, her own feet joining the chorus of thousands of others, steering away from anyone whom she might need to lock eyes with.
She pursed her lips, the sweat coating her upper lip already full of particles of sand stuck to it. With a frown, she spat sand out of her mouth. It was probably the only thing she hated about the sand.
The weavers gathered in groups ranging from three people to a whole community of twenty. Nelnifa wrinkled her nose and stopped after she passed the outer rim. Standing on her tiptoes, she scanned the crowd for a familiar face. A hand stuck in the air and waved, catching Nelnifa's expression. There they were.
She began walking briskly, the wind catching her hair in bursts. The head belonging to the hand appeared after she cleared a particular circle composed of eight people. Kethana's face beamed at Nelnifa, her pearly white teeth glinting against the sun. Her dark skin looked as soft as ever.
"Hey, you," Kethana said as Nelnifa dropped in a spot the girls in her friend's group cleared for her by scooting against the sand. "Took you long enough."
"Sorry," Nelnifa tucked her hair behind her pointy ear and ducked her head at her friend. "The caretaker was late due to a caravan blocking the road. I had to wait for her because no one's going to be with my brothers. You know how they get when they're left alone."
Kethana bobbed her head, her cropped pink hair staying put behind her head. When had she trimmed it? The last time Nelnifa was here, the girl had her hair down to the back of her neck. Now, it stayed sheared behind the ears. If there was anyone who could rock that kind of hairstyle, it was Ketha.
Then, a shoulder bumped against hers. "Aww, you know I don't mind, Nel," Ketha said with a wide grin. Well, if Nelnifa had as pearly and white teeth as Ketha, she wouldn't stop smiling too. "Family comes first."
