Early morning sun streaming in through my window cast an armada of highlights on the stacks of materials I had collected. Rhute fibers and Silverorb Silk, strong in texture and color opposing each other, demanding change. It was a very audacious project for today, a first practical try. I had sketched the design of the waterskin late last night and really made every line count. Materials needed were pretty simple in themselves: regular leather, Fineorb thread, and, of course, just a wee bit of mana-infused craftsmanship.
Then I began work on the Fineorb. Mother's words floated before my mind as I threaded it. A focused work - far from daintily nibbling at the tips of the Rhute fibre and Silverorb silk, twisting these together in experienced motions. After all, 'it was the mana that counted.' A subtle infusion of energy flowed into the threads at intervals: this bound tight, gave it strength and elastic properties.
It became almost a second nature as I braided. The very materials started coming to life under my touch with every braid. The strong earthy texture of the Rhute went wonders well along with the smooth strands of the luminous Silverorb Silk, and here was a thread that was at once both strong and elegant. When I was done, here was a spool of Fineorb thread, its green and silver hues intertwining in mesmerizing patterns.
I would have started thread at a pretty good rate of speed by mid-morning. But I realized immediately that mastery of the process was miles and miles down the road; I wasn't near that point. So I laid down the thread, caught my breath, and got ready for the next step.
Dinner that night was in itself uneventful, but pleasant. Father came in from his morning sorties with the troops, still smelling of fresh fields and open country, while Mother radiated a warm aura of tranquil efficiency, already concentrated upon her night work.
"How's your project going, Lynt?" Father asked, carving into the roasted venison.
I averted my gaze, still not so well-liked of the warmth he used in talking. "So far, I'd say so. Tomorrow, I'll visit the shops and get what leather I'll need."
He nodded, expression unreadable yet assuring. "Good. All the littlest craft matters. Not forget this.
The next day I went to the castle stores. Everywhere, noise came alive; soldiers patrolling their beats, vendors arranging stalls and artisans on a rush for the workshops. Nestled into this thriving life cycle was the general wares shop; a meager shop of the most attractive looks with spick and span shelving that appealed to look.
Behind the counter was Jefro, the clerk, a tall woman with a sharp wit and an affinity for bold yet traditional fashion. Her outfit today was no exception—a flowing tunic cinched at the waist with an intricately woven belt. She greeted me with her usual bright demeanor.
"Good morning, young lady," she said, her voice warm and welcoming.
"Morning, Jefro," I replied, smiling and making a small wave.
"What brings you here today? There's always something new to see, you know. The castle's market is a marvel, even for someone like me," she said with eyes sparkling in curiosity.
"I'm looking for leather," I said, scanning the displays. "Tier 1 or 0, nothing more. Just something practical for a waterskin I'm working on."
Jefro nodded thoughtfully and disappeared into the back. Moments later, she returned with a folded sheet of plain white leather. "Keeper goat," she explained. "Two months old. It's not brand new, but it's sturdy and reliable."
I ran my fingers over the leather's surface, appreciating its soft texture. Before I could decide, Jefro produced another option—a darker, thicker sheet.
"This is a Moon bear, youngling," she replied. "Much pricier but much in demand. They should be hibernating this time of year and the hides would be larger, harder."
I hesitated between the two. The Moon bear leather was of course much more superior, but the Keeper goat leather seemed somehow more primal, and that is just what I wanted. I deliberated a few minutes in my head before deciding.
"I'll have the Keeper goat leather," I said decisively, nodding my head. "It's just the material I need for this piece."
Jefro raised an eyebrow, but she smiled. "Practical decision. Shall I charge it to your tab?"
"Please," I said, standing ready to make my departure. "Thanks, Jefro. As always, you're a lifesaver."
"Don't forget to pay it off soon," she cried after me, her voice gay. "These things don't come cheap, you know. That'll be 25 Bicredits."
I turned my head over my shoulder, smiling as I went out of the store. Above the door, a weathered sign of worn wood, smooth from long use and through time, ran: "General Wares and Materials.".
I went back to my workshop. Laid all of the materials out before me, including the Keeper goat leather, Fineorb thread, and a simple needle. It felt pliable yet firm. It cut according to the shape drawn earlier on the pattern. So each piece I was cutting looked like it perfectly fit together with giving the project a foundation.
The real challenge arose when I actually started stitching. Stitching leather proved to be way tougher than sewing fabric. My needle would simply not penetrate this thick material; my fingers pained from sustained pressure. Still, with each stitch, the confidence in movements began to emanate. This Fineorb thread glided wonderfully well through leather and showed great strength in tying up the parts firmly.
Sometimes, I added brief sparks of mana to the thread, strengthening the seams so that the waterskin would contain even when under stress. It was painstaking work but fulfilling. Nightfall approached, and I finally completed the base framework; the waterskin was finally taking shape as a usable, beautiful piece.
Next morning, I visited my creation before dawn. The waterskin shone dully, a Finerorb-thraed stitchwork really coming through there. Modest creation, and yet to me, a milestone in my journey.
I opened up the freedom system, checking my progress.
Tailoring: 5
Leatherworking: 4
Seeing the numbers add up was, in itself, satisfying. It didn't mean learning for learning's sake; it was little steps toward understanding what surrounded me and where my place fit. I clutched the whole of the waterskin inside my hands. A small kernel of pride broke forth-it was poor, but it was mine and built through work.
So much lay beyond the walls of Nymedia waiting to be discovered, learned about, but now I was all there was to need. Each stitch, every thread, each minute perfected and moving one more step down the path to liberty for me as well as to that future for which I was already beginning to envision.