[at the loom]

Atr watched the threads shifting slowly across the tapestry. The tiny shifts in the paths of threads from small decisions faded into smooth lines as she moved her focus to the large pattern. Countless threads resolved themselves into large patterns within the greater fabric.

“The next chance to shift the pattern is coming soon,” she said watching the patterns slowly shift. “The threads will be in an excellent position in a couple months.”

“The fabric is nearly ready now,” Clo replied. “The slack is already appearing, and may disappear by then. We will miss the opportunity to make the changes needed if we wait that long.”

“Can we buy time?” Atr asked, slowly considering the pattern that would emerge in one scenario after another. “Perhaps spread the changes over time?”

“Perhaps,” Clo said concentrating on the fabric. “But you will loose the opportunity to make any large changes. Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Atr said focusing on the threads. “There are a few promising focal points that should provide a suitable change. This time we will be subtle. Other changes can wait until the next shifting point.”

Clo looked unconvinced. “The next opportunity will be in a year. If we are waiting we should ensure the threads are in place for it.”

I intend to deal with the pest now, rather than wait another year, Atr thought, but kept her plans to herself. “I understand and one of the changes I wish to make will aid that. If anything, our dear youngest sister’s toy just made trimming many unneeded threads easier.”

She reached over Clo’s shoulder to point at a thread who’s course was about to change rapidly. “We need Lac’s tool to get here and then…”

[West of Mutton]

Olrich rose for the small folding chair and motioned for the driver to collect the horses. It is nearly time. The dream was clear. This is the place.

He slowly wiped the wrinkles from his robe and the walked out of the shade. Ahead he could see where the track made a gentle turn toward the south. Hard packed lines tracked across the landscape following the paths of those before. Taking his place in the apex of the bend he could faintly see where a small track lead in a different direction. The analogy to what he was to do was not lost on him.

Each moment is a choice to follow the true path of the Goddesses plan, or stray into the wilderness of savagery. His eyes followed the small track as it lead into the hills and toward the mountains of the Spine. On the other side were the lands of the barbarian tribes, who had not fully embraced the goddesses. He gave himself a moment to contemplate the fates of those who had not embraced the loom, and spared them a quick prayer. Perhaps one day they would truly become one of the people, and be given true paths.

Turning from the sad lives of those out of his reach, he looked for the lost thread he was to meet here. The dream was so clear on the place and time, but who he was to meet was much less so. The vision had showed a large figure would walk the path, crying tears of blood. The figure was headed toward a wilderness of savagery. In the vision, Olrich had seen his hands drying the tears and lifting a shield to shade the man both from a burning light.

A flash of movement caught his attention as a figure appeared around a bend in the path. The large man stared at his feet as he walked,... No staggered down the path. Olrich was shocked by how closely the figure matched the one in the vision.

He seems to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders. Further musings were stopped as the figure caught the sound of the horses and looked up. Even from distance separating them Olrich saw bloody tears on his face.

No not tears, cuts. He is an exile. Olrich thought recognizing the injury for what it was. The figure immediately looked down and away, as if to hide his status as a criminal. Olrich slowly began to walk towards the man and held out his empty hands. I must change his path. He is to find his feet on the right path.

Olrich now understood why he shaded the man in the dream, and why the shield he held bore the emblem of the Duke of Sapphire.

[Academy]

Orn walked out of Madam Bode’s lesson with a distinct impression that she was still not happy with his efforts. I am trying despite what she believes.

“I have not even said anything and you already look annoyed,” Tack said from Orn’s right causing him to turn. “Did someone already tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Orn asked feeling a sense of nervousness grow. Tack had news and it was apparently bad.

Tack watched him closely for a moment before shrugging. “You have to go to class now. Apparently the teacher is upset you have been skipping.”

“I have never skipped class,” Orn replied trying and failing to understand what Tack was talking about.

“All high nobles are required to attend a particular class for socializing with others of their status,” Tack said rolling his eyes at the last word. “The instructor was quite insistent you stop skipping. He even had Clay called to the headmaster’s office to demand you attend.”

“Well I would tell you to have fun, but I doubt you will,” Tack said and shoved a stack of papers into Orn’s hands. “My recommendation is to look busy. The others will be less likely to harass you if you already look miserable.”

Orn’s eyes widened as Tack pulled more papers from his bag and added them to the pile. Then looking Orn in the eye Tack added, “try not to stab any of them.”

“What class? I still do not understand,” Orn began only to be cut off.

“Do not worry, he will tell you. I am shocked he actually came out here to collect you himself,” Tack said gesturing past Orn’s shoulder.

Orn turned to see the large teacher, from his first day, marching across the green toward him with a scowl on his face.

“Good luck,” Tack said giving Orn a gentle shove on the back.