30th day of Spring, 515 AV
The influx of people continued, and Naiya was privy to the exchanges, the shifting once more of the tent city to accommodate foreigners - whether through the broken exchanging of languages, or the odd assortment of strangers in stranger clothing. Naiya was able to watch it all from her seat in the shop, often casting her glance towards the busy street when her mind stalled.
She pulled herself back to the work at hand. Choosing first a piece of cloth, hoping to figure out a wide flat flower to accent the band. She picked the darkest of her selection, a gelded orange color, and cut away the corners of the small square cloth. She pinched the middle together, forming a small cone of fabric, and threaded a needle through the cloth wrinkles formed, weaving in and out of the cloth in rapid hills and valleys. It would not hold the flower closed, rather it was meant to create pulls and wrinkles in the fabric. So once she had completely wound the thread through it, she pulled it tight, creating a wrinkled, flower-esque shape.
Or she had hoped it would. This was certainly wrinkled, but it didn't look like a flower. That wasn't entirely true. It did sort of resemble a flower, but it wasn't nearly nice enough to display on a hair piece. She was close, but her work wasn't done quite yet.
The call of a child caught her attention, shifting her eyes back to the busy street. A welcome distraction for the task at her hands often brought her mind to a stand still, or rather her hands to one. Making the flowers for the band had not proven so easy as she had imagined, and her entire design would fall apart if she could not think of a solution.
So it was with the lit of frustration in her posture that she followed the movements of people outside the pavilion walls. Children dressed nearly in rags moved past, led by others, some barely more than children themselves, others with the wounded joy of parents who adopted a new child to replace one lost. So many parents had lost children in the storms, in the attack by the Zith on their homes, or to illness, this bunch of rescued women and children would help heal many of the collective wounds the Drykas suffered.
She considered for a moment going herself to the auction, perhaps adopting a child there, offering a safe home. Not without Shahar, though, and not without discussing it with both him and Khida. It wasn't her place to act on such matters alone.
So with a shake of her head and a gentle sigh, she returned to her work, leaving thoughts of children and slaves to others.
The influx of people continued, and Naiya was privy to the exchanges, the shifting once more of the tent city to accommodate foreigners - whether through the broken exchanging of languages, or the odd assortment of strangers in stranger clothing. Naiya was able to watch it all from her seat in the shop, often casting her glance towards the busy street when her mind stalled.
She pulled herself back to the work at hand. Choosing first a piece of cloth, hoping to figure out a wide flat flower to accent the band. She picked the darkest of her selection, a gelded orange color, and cut away the corners of the small square cloth. She pinched the middle together, forming a small cone of fabric, and threaded a needle through the cloth wrinkles formed, weaving in and out of the cloth in rapid hills and valleys. It would not hold the flower closed, rather it was meant to create pulls and wrinkles in the fabric. So once she had completely wound the thread through it, she pulled it tight, creating a wrinkled, flower-esque shape.
Or she had hoped it would. This was certainly wrinkled, but it didn't look like a flower. That wasn't entirely true. It did sort of resemble a flower, but it wasn't nearly nice enough to display on a hair piece. She was close, but her work wasn't done quite yet.
The call of a child caught her attention, shifting her eyes back to the busy street. A welcome distraction for the task at her hands often brought her mind to a stand still, or rather her hands to one. Making the flowers for the band had not proven so easy as she had imagined, and her entire design would fall apart if she could not think of a solution.
So it was with the lit of frustration in her posture that she followed the movements of people outside the pavilion walls. Children dressed nearly in rags moved past, led by others, some barely more than children themselves, others with the wounded joy of parents who adopted a new child to replace one lost. So many parents had lost children in the storms, in the attack by the Zith on their homes, or to illness, this bunch of rescued women and children would help heal many of the collective wounds the Drykas suffered.
She considered for a moment going herself to the auction, perhaps adopting a child there, offering a safe home. Not without Shahar, though, and not without discussing it with both him and Khida. It wasn't her place to act on such matters alone.
So with a shake of her head and a gentle sigh, she returned to her work, leaving thoughts of children and slaves to others.
