Every Glistening Night

Chapter Thirty-Five

I barely suppress a yawn as Jeayma m'ke tells us our daily assignments. Now that we've completed our quarterly trade with the other tribes, it's a race against the elements to finish everything before the ground freezes over.

"Celisae," Jeayma m'ke says. I jolt to attention, though my eyelids still droop halfway over my pupils. "Help pass out the spare robes today."

I join the growing group of people standing nearby. My brain slowly shuts down in the time it takes for the rest of the tasks to be delegated. Then, the group starts moving toward the store-cave, and I follow automatically. A man plops a pile of thick robes into my arms. I teeter for a moment, regaining my balance. No one seems to notice that I sway from side to side while bringing the robes across the clearing. I dump the pile on a level stone. Nearly all of them slide to the ground, but I catch them, panting.

"Celisae's robes are over here," a woman says, dumping more furry garments onto another stone.

People pass by slowly, children who have rips in their clothes, hunters with claw marks in theirs, elderly tribe members wearing clothes that appear centuries old. I sit on the ground, fighting to keep my eyes open as people request new garments. Each time, I must rifle through my stack, looking for an appropriate size. More than a few times, I misjudge people's appearances and hand over a cloak too big or too small.

I'm in the process of sorting through the stack, frequently glancing up at the woman standing before me for size reference, when a wail breaks through the clearing. I turn around, and my gaze settles on a little boy across the clearing. Tears drip down his cheeks, onto the brown fur robe he's wrapped in. The robe is familiar, and it takes a moment for me to realize that it's one I made.

"E-excuse me," I stammer. My tired brain senses something is wrong but can't quite process what it is.

"It's cold!" the boy cries. He shivers to solidify the point.

"But it's an extra warm robe," his mother says, mystified. She glances up at the weaver passing out the robes, who shakes her head in bafflement.

"May I see it?" I ask.

The boy's mother unwraps the robe. He wears long sleeves underneath, but his hands are exposed and are a sickly shade of blue. I take the robe from his mother, and ice seeps into my skin.

"That's odd. It felt cold to me, too," his mother says.

I open the robe, gently running my hands up and down the weave. I try not to seem too invested in what I'm searching for, just in case someone else decides to inspect my handiwork in a similar way. A white glint catches my eyes, the faintest of pale sparkles threaded in the robe. My chest squeezes with worry, maybe even fear. I've made a horrible mistake, probably when I was too tired to think about what I was doing.

I force my features to relax, and I shake my head in feigned confusion. "How strange. I must've messed this one up somehow. Let me fix it, and it will be ready by tomorrow."

"Thank you," the boy's mother says. She takes his hand and leads him away, wiping away the stray tears on his face.

I return to my station and continue sorting through the clothes. But my hands flip through the garments slower than usual, like they're afraid they'll make another mistake. All I can think about is the moonlight I sewed into the robe. It could've given the child a cold, even frozen the child to death if he was out too long in frigid weather.

I have to be more careful in the future. Already, the effects of one sleepless night are weighing me down. I have to keep my wits about me and avoid more careless mistakes.