Every Glistening Night

Chapter Thirteen

Jeayma m'ke didn't say anything when I returned to the tribe. It was 'weaving as usual' in the clearing, and aside from the extra loom set, my presence, or lack thereof, goes unregistered.

My bag feels extra heavy on my shoulder as I weave an order of yellow fabric. Spider silk barely adds an ounce, but the knowledge of what's inside contributes to the weight. My fingers pull at the threads on my loom in a rhythmic pattern. The transformation occurs in mere instants, from singular blue lines to interlocking fabric.

The soft padding of footsteps approaches. I glance up to see Audrel carrying a basket on both arms.

"I'm surprised you can work with that bag on your shoulder," she comments.

She sits beside me, placing the baskets in front of her. One is empty while the other brims with green shrubs. She lifts one, digging her blunt nail at the top and removing a tough, stringy part of the plant. The sheared shrub drops into the empty basket. Her hands move as quickly as mine, a motion burned into her consciousness.

"I suppose it doesn't get in the way of your work," Audrel continues. Her peripheral turns to me, likely taking in the way my left shoulder is slightly tensed to keep the back from falling. Normally, I place it at my feet. But I feel an urge to keep the ika silk close, especially given how much time I spent collecting it.

"I, uh, didn't even notice," I say. I make no motion to adjust my bag, and fortunately, Audrel doesn't press the topic.

We work in silence, my fingers strumming over the threads, hers plucking at the components of an upcoming meal. Though the others in the clearing have far more animated conversations, I enjoy the silence Audrel and I share. It's nice to not be alone during my daily tasks for once.

Blue and pink marbles over the loom, and Audrel's two baskets even out in fullness. By late afternoon, I tie off the final strand of fabric and remove it from the wooden frame.

"That's beautiful," Audrel says, leaning over to get a closer look. "That will fetch a high price among the Alkse."

I beam. "Thank you, Audrel." I dip my head shyly before standing to bring my creation to Jeayma m'ke. When I take my first step, though, I trip over my feet. In a split second, remembering the ika silk in my bag, I twist onto my right side, landing with a thud. Pain shoots through my arm and hip.

"Celisae!" Audrel cries. "Are you alright?"

Before I know it, she's by my side, my left side, helping me to my feet. Tension seizes my body. She's too close to the ika silk. In one swift move, she could snatch away my bag and open it. She could discover my secret.

"I'm fine," I say, shrinking back. I brush off the dirt on my tunic, though my right arm aches with the movement.

"It seemed like a hard fall." Worry shines in Audrel's eyes, and warmth seeps through me. "Do you need to see Kletasuah?"

She cares about where I've been hurt.

"I'm alright," I say. This time, it comes out less strong, less panicked, more mellowed by Audrel's concern.

"Are you sure?" Audrel asks. "She can make you a soothing tea."

"Yes, I—" I clamp my mouth shut.

Soothing. Veraloe.

"Actually..." I exaggerate a wince, clutching my arm. "Maybe I should."

Audrel picks up the fabric I wove from the ground, brushing off the grime. "I'll give this to Jeayma m'ke. You get that arm checked out. We can't lose a weaver of your skill due to a fall."