A pale glow dances in a bush, looping and diving between the tangled branches. To the average eye, the faint glow peeking behind the leaves would be imperceptible. But mine had been trained over the course of many years to detect it.

I remember the first time I wielded it. The moment filled me with more awe and prickling terror than I'd ever felt, than I ever thought I would feel.

Ordinarily, I would've rushed to collect the scarce ray, which the sun so graciously dropped on earth. Instead, I remain crouched among the leaves and tufts of forest grass, settling to watch it. Mother once said that watching the beams of light was useful for collecting it since a person can learn the light's behavior, the way it swirls through the air, and more importantly, the way that it's destroyed.

Childrens' squeals interrupt my concentration. Two girls run past in a blur of fur dresses and flying braids. They tear through the thicket, and the bush shudders, releasing leaves to the forest floor. Oblivious laughter rings in their wake. They don't see the sun's gift dissipating among the broken twigs, like a candle snuffed out.

I sigh. It's not like I would have been able to collect the light, anyway. That's the trouble with light. It typically rests in solitary places, high in the mountains and trees, away from the tribe's daily activity. It makes the light more difficult to collect, but it's worth the trouble.

A shadow falls over me, and I glance up at Audrel. The few crows feet around her eyes deepen as she smiles down at me. "Almost done, Celisae? The other women have already returned to camp."

I blink at her, then down at my basket. Tiny fairygold and crimson pine flowers fill my basket to the brim, yet I still prefer to linger in the forest longer than the others. Audrel knows it, too. She never presses me as to why, I'm sure she can guess the reason.

"It's past noon," Audrel reminds me, tilting her head to the sky, where sunlight filters in from directly above us.

"Alright." I push myself up, not before grabbing a final flower, and follow her toward camp. Though the trees may appear the same, all rich brown and reaching for the sky, there's still a familiarity to the route Audrel and I take. Some branches I must duck under since they hang in my path. Other trees have leaves that are a slightly darker or lighter shade of green, or a slightly more rounded shape versus ones more pointy. Some trees are more squished together, their trunks leaning together, whereas others keep their distance.

My eyes hitch on the trunk of a particularly robust tree. Grooves trace the bark in jagged lines. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was the symbol for "Na," or thunder. I hurry to catch up with Audrel before she notices I'm lagging. One of the children must've decided to practice writing The head matriarch's name, Nal m'se. Her name reflects her rule over the tribe: she holds enough power to make the mountains tremble.

The buzz of conversation greets us going into camp. People crowd the fractured cliff, a stony plateau that functions as our central gathering place. The smell of soup warms the air, full of aromatic spices and herbs. I step in the waning line of people in the middle of the clearing. Two women and men ladle broth, meet, and vegetables into stone bowls, placing a savory bun atop the mound. It warms my palms when I receive it, and my stomach grumbles.

Tribespeople dot the ground in clusters, a mixture of old, young, and somewhere in between. I weave my way to the edge, where the forest meets the cliffs. There, I sit on the same rock I always do. It's like the curve on its surface was made for me. I slip easily inside it, a piece in nature's puzzle. I tip the bowl back, letting savory soup flood my tongue and heat saturate my bones. It's late in the summer, and the days are hottest this time of year. But our high elevation preserves a nip in the air that only soup and furry clothes can remove.

I glance up as I chew a piece of meat, first at the tribe finishing their second meal, then panning toward the forest. Another child has carved the first part of our matriarch's name not from where I sit. Deep, straight lines slice the bark on an extended diagonal. How a child managed to reach that high up is beyond me.

In my peripheral, I see Leu padding toward me. She's Audrel's daughter, though we've never been close. By the time Audrel became my guardian when I was eight, she already found her place among the other gatherers.

"Hello Celisae," she says, her voice soft with a hint of timidity. "Uh, Nal m'se wishes to see you."

My back straightens, and a prickle of nerves races across my skin. "Oh."

"She said you can finish your soup," Leu adds quickly. Her fingers lace together in front of her. "Just see her when you can."

"Alright." I force the quaver from my voice and offer what I hope to be a convincing smile. Leu returns the expression and hurries back to Senna and Anaeja. Their gazes linger on me a moment too long before turning back to each other. No doubt, they finished eating a while ago.

I don't know whether to rush my meal, rip the poultice off so-to-speak, or drag out my meal, perhaps give Nal m'se enough time to change her mind about wanting to see me. I decide to eat at a normal pace. The herbs soothe my anxiety by only a few degrees, and I force myself to not imagine why the head matriarch might wish to speak to me.

She can't know. How could she have discovered?

I glance around after draining my soup bowl. Everyone appears to be occupied by their own little worlds. I slide a square of cloth from my pocket and wrap the savory cake and as much meat as I can fit inside. Quickly, I tuck it inside a pocket I sewed to be extra deep in my robe.

After returning my bowl to the cooks, I head into the cave on the corner of the gathering area. That's where the matriarchs reside, deep inside the mountain. Cool air fills my nose with the scent of earth and minerals. A distant drip, drip, drip of water forms a rhythm with my heart and steps — two beats per step, two steps per water drop. Light fades the further I go from the cave's entrance, turning the matriarch and guards sitting deep in the cave into silhouettes.

"Hello, Celisae." Based on her tranquil, high-pitched voice, I'd say it's Yia m'ke. "Nal m'se is inside." The guards' dark forms move a large stone aside, filling the cave with a grinding sound. Light blinds my eyes, and I blink several times before I get used to it.

Nal m'se sits on a gray pyramid in the center of the inner room. A fur cape drapes around her shoulders and falls inches above the floor. Flowers adorn the black braid stretching down her right side. The stone grumbles behind me, and by the time I turn around, my escape has closed.

"Come closer, Celisae," she says. Her alto voice holds as much power as her name, drawing me toward the pyramid.

"Hello, Head Matriarch." I bow low, eyes cast to the floor. A tremor twitches my fingers, and I'm surprised that it hasn't shaken my voice as well.

"I have asked you here today," she goes on, "because I have an important task for you."

My gaze lifts to hers. Her wrinkled face is stoic, but not unkind. I take a deep breath.

"Of course, Nal m'se."

"The task requires water resistant fabric," Nal m'se continues. "As the only weaver who knows the technique, you are the only candidate for this task."

Slowly, relief permeates me. I want to sag from its weight, but keep my posture straight. Her sharp, charcoal eyes would perceive any betrayal of my thoughts.

"Yes, Nal m'se. I pledge my assistance."

A beat of silence stills the cavern. "We need you to weave animal-skin parcels. They must be able to withstand snow for several days without getting soaked. We don't want the cloth inside to grow mildew."

"What cloth inside?" The question slips out before I could think twice. I wince.

"That's for others to know," Nal m'se tells me. "Your task will be to sew these pieces of cloth inside the parcels. I will send those I choose to you, bearing the cloth. After securing them in the animal skins, you will return the parcels to the person that brought the cloth."

"Yes, Nal m'se."

Nal m'se leans forward. "You must not discuss this with anyone, not even the ones I send to you."

"Yes, Nal m'se."

Nal m'se seems to relax, sitting more squarely on the rock. "Very well. Do you have any questions about your task?"

"No, Nal m'se." Actually, many questions swirl in my mind. What is this cloth? Is there something inside it? Something on it? Why can only select people know about it? Why do the animal skins need to be water resistant? While helpful, it shouldn't be a requirement for parcels, unless they were to sit out in water or snow for an extended period of time.

None of my questions are appropriate, so I refrain from asking.

"If you have any issues, bring them to me. I will be available whenever you request." Perhaps the sunlight is so bright, it is tricking my eyes, but I could swear that a smile edges the matriarch's lips. Her eyes pierce through the dark with something much akin to expectation, confidence in the talents I've tried so hard to prove. This isn't the average job. Deep down, I think that her task for me is the peak of recognition and honor.

Guilt stirs in my core. When I'm honest with myself, I know I've already let her down.

A question Nal m'se can answer crosses my mind. "When should I begin?"

"When the first cloth bearer arrives," Nal m'se says. "Be patient. It may be soon or a moon from now. But most importantly, do not reveal your task to anyone, nor let anyone find you working on it."

"Yes, Nal m'se."

The matriarch's words ring in my ears as I leave the cave. Curiosity bites at me, but I tamp it down. The most important thing is that the meeting with Nal m'se was of recognition, not reprimand.