Darkness closes around me from all angles, except for the moonlight streaming through the thick forest leaves. I keep my ears perked for any sounds in the undergrowth, my eyes searching the shadows for a statue that doesn't belong among the trees. The last time I came here by night, I met the strange, hooded figure, my blackmailer. And I still can't shake the feeling that someone is watching me.

I pick a spot amidst the trees to commence my biggest project yet. It should be far enough away from the tribe that no one will find me. A twinge of guilt twists in my gut as I remove a loom from my bag. I don't want to take items that belong to the tribe, but I have no other options. This is the only way to make a sunlight cloak. It was easier than I had initially though, too. I volunteered this afternoon to help put away the looms. When I was alone in the supply cave, I slipped one of the already inventoried looms into my bag. Unless every single loom is brought out in the coming days, no one will know it's missing.

I wind the ika silk round and round each part of the loom. The large white bundle from earlier dwindles quickly. I use almost every thread to protect the loom from the sun's intensity, which would surely burn the wooden frame faster than I can form half the fabric I need.

My hand feels around the inside of my bag, into each pocket until my fist closes on a small wooden box. I open it, and though dulled from the new thread form, sunlight still glows against the darkness. I feel an urge to stifle it in some way. It's like a smoke signal in the sky, announcing my location to people far and wide. But the sunlight will not be contained once outside the simmenberry wood.

I remove the first, long piece from the golden coil. If it weren't for its effervescence, the hairline sun would become lost in the dark, impossible to manipulate into cloth. I place it on the loom, then add more and more threads around it.

The pattern I follow is the same for all types of thread, from wool to cotton to ika silk. The difference is the fabric produced in the end. What was once a single wisp becomes a shining square. The lattice pattern from the weaving is barely noticeable with thread this fine. It looks more like liquid gold semi-hardened over the loom.

Though only a fraction of the cloak has been bound together, heat radiates from the loom. I enjoy it at first, gentle breath against my skin. The thread becomes slick against my perspiring fingers, and without thinking, I find myself wiping my hands against my tunic. I lean close to add another of the sun's rays to the shimmering collection, but pain sears my fingers when I try to interweave it. The sunlight takes up a mere half of the loom, yet the burns begin.

I put on the gloves I made yesterday to finish the job. They're sewed tight, practically a second skin, and the ika silk is light. But the silky fabric makes it easier for the thread to slip through my fingertips, falling into the grass or under leaves. At least the sunlight makes it easy to find. It's just more cumbersome to use gloves, no matter how thin they may be.

But at long last, sunlight covers the entire loom in bright yellow. It's almost blinding how concentrated the light is. Heat waves roll off the celestial cloth, enough to make sweat bead on my upper lip. I swipe my arm across my face to remove a marginal amount of excess moisture, then set to work removing the sunlight. Despite the heat the rest of me registers, the ika silk keeps my hands safe from the high temperature. I slide the fabric into a spidery sheaf, woven yesterday as well to ensure that the sunlight doesn't burn all it touches.

I sit back on my heels with a sigh. This is the first of many fabric portions I must weave in the coming days. Glancing at the sky, I only have a few more moons until I must meet the hooded figure in the forest again. Half of my sunlight reserves were depleted tonight, too, which doesn't help matters. I'll have to find time to get more, to make more thread.

My hand clutches the side of my head. It's too much, this task is too great for me to accomplish. Why does this have to be the thing that satisfies my blackmailer? What use is there for a cloak of sunlight?

I reach for another strand of sunlight, threading it through the loom. I can't waste time mulling over questions, no matter how valid. Now is the time to act, to protect, to create.

***

The multi-colored cloth on my loom blinks in and out of focus. My fingers pause on the strands, and I take a moment to pinch my temples, pinch the drowsiness from my brain. I've been working non-stop on my orders by day and the sunlight cloak by night for five moons now. The late nights and early mornings started to get to me long before today. My beary eyes threaten to close, sending me into deep sleep.

Yes, the wonderful bliss that accompanies sleep is a threat. It propels me to place my fingers back on the loom, continue interweaving the cotton on what will soon become a robe that will be traded with the Alkse.

The thread feels rougher on my skin. I can feel the texture more poignantly, each individual fiber that nature has coiled into one rope, after handling so much sunlight the past few days. It chafes against my sensitive finger pads, slightly raw from sunlight burns. I try to be careful, especially when large sections are woven together, but sometimes it's hard to tell the temperature.

Somehow, pink, blue, green, and white threads cover nearly half my loom. I started right after lunch, and based on the increasingly orange-yellow hue beating down overhead, I'd say that I've been working for several hours. Normally, by this time, I'd be much further along, perhaps even finished. But fatigue makes every part of me drag, from my brain to my hands.

I glance around. As usual, few pay me mind. I pretend to brush something off my tunic, but really, I slip my hand into my pocket. Quickly, my fingers find several beams of sunlight. I remove them, closing my hand around the gold in thread form. Warmth seeps into my palm, a constant reminder that it's there, just in case my sleepy brain doses off to that fact.

My hands handle the sunlight thread more rapidly than I ever did in the past. I interloop the sunny strands into the fabric as I continue to weave. This is the secret behind waterproof clothing, or in the case of Nal m'se, waterproof parcels. A few strands here, a few strands there, and the collective heat given off by the sun repels water.

"Celisae!"

I startle, dropping the threads I was working on to the ground. Hannei stands before me, a deer slung over her shoulder. Anxiety clouds my chest, and I become hyper aware of the blood racing in my veins, making my hands tremble.

Did she see the sunlight? I ought to be more careful. I shouldn't weave with sunlight out in the open like this, for anyone in the tribe to see should they look carefully enough. But I've never had a problem in the past. This is the way I've always slipped sunlight into my fabric quota, just a little at a time, masked by the other threads woven into the design. No one has noticed before.

But that doesn't mean that someone might in the future. It doesn't mean that someone caught me right now.

"Sorry to startle you," Hannei says. Most of her black hair is pulled back in a sleek braid, but after a day of hunting, a few wisps frame her darkened face. She wears a smile, the kind that can light up a moonless night. It doesn't speak of impending punishment.

"I-It's alright," I manage to stammer. I force my eyes to not stray to the cloth, to not draw attention to my secret.

Her smile drops, replaced by worry. "Are you alright? It looks like there's soot under your eyes."

"Yes, I'm fine." My voice comes out in a haggard breath, far from convincing.

"I hope you're getting enough sleep." The concern in her voice touches me. I feel a smile tugging at my lips despite my fatigue. Somehow, just hearing her speak as if I'm one of them makes the sleepless nights worth it. My efforts aren't in vain, and in a few short days, it will all be over.

"I'm trying," I manage to say. It's about the only truthful response I can give.

Her eyes stray down to the fabric I've been working on. A light seems to turn on in her eyes, though dread extinguishes the momentary optimism I felt.

"What beautiful cloth, Celisae," Hannei gushes. "I'm sure we can fetch a high price for it."

I force the smile to remain on my face. "I hope so."

Please don't look too closely. When I look down at the loom, all I can see is sunlight winking back.

"Oh, for sure." Her eyes linger on it a moment too long before returning to me. "I was just stopping by regarding the upcoming half moon. Yefto and I were planning to play again for the tribe, and we were hoping you'd join us."

I'm stunned into silence. I almost ask if she can repeat herself to make sure I heard her right. Am I finally being invited to join a music band in the tribe?

"Of course, I don't want to add extra pressure on you," Hannei hurries to add. "If you think it will be too much for you, don't feel forced to join us. Yefto and I just thought that we played so well together that it might be nice to do so again."

"I'd love to," I say. Few other words form. It's like happiness has overridden my brain's ability to think.

Hannei grins. "I'm so glad! We hope to practice tomorrow evening for a bit, just to pick out some of the tunes we plan to play."

"I'll be there." Something in my gut protests, but I tamp it down. This is the opportunity I've always wanted. Finally, I'm not receive empty praise for my talents. Finally, there's something to show for all that I've done the past eleven years.

"We'll meet here at dusk," Hannei says. "From there, we'll find a place to work on our songs. But if any of this gets to be too much, please let us know. Stress does not go well with music."

"Of course." But I already know I won't. I can't bring myself to pass up this moment for fear that I'll never get another chance.

Hannei glances over her shoulder. "I need to get this to the cooks for tonight. But we'll talk soon." She waves at me with her free hand before trudging off across the clearing.

I settle back in my seat, trying to process what just happened. My fingers find the thread I'd dropped, the ones Hannei never noticed.

That was a close one. Slowly, my fingers work the thread in and out, over and under, until the gold is barely visible.