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    Summary

    Weaving was usually a very meditative activity for her; thread up, thread down, tie into a secure knot. The patterns, shapes and colors, everything coming together into something, something concrete that her mind envisioned and her hands put together: her creation. After a century of training and learning with poor materials and unfit wool or rusty needles while trying to hide from her captors what she was doing, it was a blessing to see her pieces coming together in silk and linen, cotton and the softest wool she had ever touched.

    Yes, weaving was customarily very meditative. Problem was, the one thing Hel Vhondryl could meditate about for the past couple of hours did not present meditation material.

    Her mind’s sole focus was the man sitting across the room from her.

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