Jeayma m'ke didn't say anything when I returned to the tribe. It was 'weaving as usual' in the clearing, and aside from the extra loom set, my presence, or lack thereof, goes unregistered.

My bag feels extra heavy on my shoulder as I weave an order of yellow fabric. Spider silk barely adds an ounce, but the knowledge of what's inside contributes to the weight. My fingers pull at the threads on my loom in a rhythmic pattern. The transformation occurs in mere instants, from singular blue lines to interlocking fabric.

The soft padding of footsteps approaches. I glance up to see Audrel carrying a basket on both arms.

"I'm surprised you can work with that bag on your shoulder," she comments.

She sits beside me, placing the baskets in front of her. One is empty while the other brims with green shrubs. She lifts one, digging her blunt nail at the top and removing a tough, stringy part of the plant. The sheared shrub drops into the empty basket. Her hands move as quickly as mine, a motion burned into her consciousness.

"I suppose it doesn't get in the way of your work," Audrel continues. Her peripheral turns to me, likely taking in the way my left shoulder is slightly tensed to keep the back from falling. Normally, I place it at my feet. But I feel an urge to keep the ika silk close, especially given how much time I spent collecting it.

"I, uh, didn't even notice," I say. I make no motion to adjust my bag, and fortunately, Audrel doesn't press the topic.

We work in silence, my fingers strumming over the threads, hers plucking at the components of an upcoming meal. Though the others in the clearing have far more animated conversations, I enjoy the silence Audrel and I share. It's nice to not be alone during my daily tasks for once.

Blue and pink marbles over the loom, and Audrel's two baskets even out in fullness. By late afternoon, I tie off the final strand of fabric and remove it from the wooden frame.

"That's beautiful," Audrel says, leaning over to get a closer look. "That will fetch a high price among the Alkse."

I beam. "Thank you, Audrel." I dip my head shyly before standing to bring my creation to Jeayma m'ke. When I take my first step, though, I trip over my feet. In a split second, remembering the ika silk in my bag, I twist onto my right side, landing with a thud. Pain shoots through my arm and hip.

"Celisae!" Audrel cries. "Are you alright?"

Before I know it, she's by my side, my left side, helping me to my feet. Tension seizes my body. She's too close to the ika silk. In one swift move, she could snatch away my bag and open it. She could discover my secret.

"I'm fine," I say, shrinking back. I brush off the dirt on my tunic, though my right arm aches with the movement.

"It seemed like a hard fall." Worry shines in Audrel's eyes, and warmth seeps through me. "Do you need to see Kletasuah?"

She cares about where I've been hurt.

"I'm alright," I say. This time, it comes out less strong, less panicked, more mellowed by Audrel's concern.

"Are you sure?" Audrel asks. "She can make you a soothing tea."

"Yes, I—" I clamp my mouth shut.

Soothing. Veraloe.

"Actually..." I exaggerate a wince, clutching my arm. "Maybe I should."

Audrel picks up the fabric I wove from the ground, brushing off the grime. "I'll give this to Jeayma m'ke. You get that arm checked out. We can't lose a weaver of your skill due to a fall."

A grin breaks my lips. I'm unsure how to respond to her praise, other than the heat tinging my cheeks, so I dip my head and head up the mountain path. I pass my cave on the way to the healer and duck in briefly to hide my bag.

Herbs greet me a minute later. I round a bend in the mountain and land inside Kletasuah's infirmary. The healer cleans a gash on a little girl's leg with a puff of cotton. Otherwise, there's no one else around.

"There you are," she says in a calming voice. "All better."

The little girl sniffles. "Am I going to be scawred for life?"

"No, no, dear," Kletasuah says with a peal of silvery laughter. "You'll heal just fine. Now run along back to your parents."

Slowly, the girl's head drops down and up. She limps away, perhaps a little too dramatically.

Kletasuah faces me, a smile stretched across her glassy skin. Despite her appearance, her wisdom, passed down from her mentor, far surpasses her youth.

"I just fell on my arm a little bit ago." I angle my right arm toward her. "It shouldn't be too serious, but I wanted to get it checked out just in case."

"Of course." A slight crinkle appears at the corner of her eyes. "We don't want anything to hinder your weaving, or your laivo playing." I smile, and Kletasuah waves a hand to a cot stretched along the cave's back wall. "Take a seat."

Blankets soften the hard earth more than I'm used to. I suppose those who normally sleep in the infirmary need the extra cushioning. Kletasuah examines my arm, feeling for broken bones or any sprains. I wince a few times at her prodding, but nothing is too serious. In a couple days, my bruises will heal, and I'll be back to normal.

"I don't detect any serious injury," Kletasuah determines at the end of her assessment. "But I can make you some tea to help ease any pain."

"Thank you," I say. Kletasuah turns her back to me as she pours water into a pot hanging over a small fire pit. She strikes two stones against each other. Sparks fly onto wood, igniting a petite flame. It will take a while for the water to heat up. By then, I need to have figured out a way to get some veraloe, or at least figured out where she keeps it.

Kletasuah walks to a set of stone shelves lining the walls. She shuffles a few urns around until she grabs a tiny one with painted bands around it. Her long, thin fingers reach inside to remove three leathery leaves, which she then places inside a ceramic mug. My eyes skim the remaining shelves. Various urns and plants add pops of green, yellow, and brown to the gray. I work my way from top to bottom. On the second to last shelf, I spot a green plant with a hard, thorny exterior.

I've only seen it a few times as we don't get burned often in the mountains. But once, in the winter of all times, I was careless and spent too much time out in the open, directly pointing my face to the sun to bask in its heat. The next morning, I woke up with extra red skin. Mother sent me to the Earlhe, the kindly old healer that preceded Kletasuah. He sliced open an armored green leaf and gave me a little bit of jelly from veraloe to soothe my skin.

Kletasuah's back is to me. A bubble breaks the still water, inching toward a boil. I scoot over on the bed, inch by inch, until the plant is within reach. In a flash, my hand closes around spikes, then returns to my side.

Too late, I realize two problems. First, Kletasuah is sure to notice that the veraloe is missing. Second, I have nowhere to hide it since I stashed my bag in my room. I could kick myself for not thinking ahead.

More bubbles burst in the pot now, and Kletsuah pours the heated water over the leaves. She turns around before my hand, frozen in indecision, can act. A smile stretches across her face.

"Interested in plants?" she asks.

I glance at the veraloe. Tiny pricks dot my palm from holding it.

"Oh," Kletasuah chuckles as she crouches beside me, handing me the tea. "You've got to be careful." Gently, she pulls the veraloe from my hand and replaces it on the shelf. "The spikes can hurt if you press too hard."

I nod, lifting the cup so that the steam forms a warm shield around my face. I let the heat envelope my skin for a few seconds, then set the cup down. It'd burn my mouth if I drank now.

"It's such a peculiar plant," I say, forcing conversation. "I wonder what it looks like inside."

Kletasuah stares at the two plants for a moment. "I might have a cut one around here somewhere. I try to preserve them as much as possible since we only replenish our supplies when we trade with the Erdest." She shuffles through the various medicines and herbs crowding the shelves. Lids clank and urns scratch against the stone as she searches.

Guilt stirs in my gut. I hadn't even considered how stealing one might hurt the tribe. Mother only needs a little veraloe, and the remainder would probably go to waste.

Kletasuah removes a small, rounded jar from the shelf. She holds it out for me to peer inside. A chunk of thick green leaf is cut in half, shriveling around the exposed opaque gelly. It sits atop a pool of water at the base.

"The water helps keep it fresh," Kletasuah explains. She lifts it with two fingers. "Though I'm afraid the gelly has nearly dried up. Not sure if it will be much use pretty soon."

"What are you going to do with it?" I ask, eyes widening.

"I may have to compost it." Her head shakes, flipping her bobbed black hair from side to side. "Such a shame to waste it."

A shame indeed.

"Could I keep it?" I ask.

Kletasuah blinks at me in surprise. "I-I suppose. Though soon, it will become brown and cracked, no matter how you try to preserve it."

"That's alright," I say. She continues to stare at me curiously, so I add, "I just think it'd be cool to have."

Kletasuah doesn't seem convinced — I don't blame her — but she removes the chunk of veraloe from the urn nonetheless and gives it to me. "If you store it with a little bit of moisture, it should make it last longer. But don't add too much, otherwise mold might grow."

I nod. I try a sip from my tea cup, and the water has cooled enough for me to begin drinking it. Herbs fill my tongue, a slight sweetness underlying the bitterness. Almost immediately, I feel the vestiges of pain in my arm fade away. Muscles relax in my shoulders, ones I hadn't even realized were still knotted from climbing. Serenity descends over me. I feel heavy, like I could fall asleep on the cot beneath me. Somehow, I can't even bring myself to lie down. The motion would disturb the supreme tranquility I feel.

"Though just be forewarned, I may ask for it back," Kletasuah says lightly. "You never know when a burn patient may come in."

I smile absently, curling my fingers against the hot pottery as I take another sip. The only thing I care about right now is that I got Mother's ointment.