The Grief Loom stood silently on top of the hill. It was massive and ancient, built from things that predated grief: blackwood, silver thread, bone, and crystallized tears.
Each of them walked a different path and arrived in the same place. Lucian was standing up straight, his Echoheart Grimoire quiet for once.
Merry hugged her Grimoire to her chest, looking shy and uncertain. Cadrel kept his hands folded across his chest, not daring to speak first. And Alice, standing closest to the Loom, simply breathed.
Lucian thought she looked more like herself than ever before.
The Spinnermaid sat in front of the Loom, her veil brushing across the hill like a tide. Her delicate hands worked without pause, threading emotion through the ups and downs of history.
She didn't look at them right away. But Lucian found himself hypnotized with the rhythmic way her hands moved the thread. It looked like she was creating a colorful table runner with an intricate design in silver thread.
