I barely suppress a yawn as Jeayma m'ke tells us our daily assignments. Now that we've completed our quarterly trade with the other tribes, it's a race against the elements to finish everything before the ground freezes over.

"Celisae," Jeayma m'ke says. I jolt to attention, though my eyelids still droop halfway over my pupils. "Help pass out the spare robes today."

I join the growing group of people standing nearby. My brain slowly shuts down in the time it takes for the rest of the tasks to be delegated. Then, the group starts moving toward the store-cave, and I follow automatically. A man plops a pile of thick robes into my arms. I teeter for a moment, regaining my balance. No one seems to notice that I sway from side to side while bringing the robes across the clearing. I dump the pile on a level stone. Nearly all of them slide to the ground, but I catch them, panting.

"Celisae's robes are over here," a woman says, dumping more furry garments onto another stone.

People pass by slowly, children who have rips in their clothes, hunters with claw marks in theirs, elderly tribe members wearing clothes that appear centuries old. I sit on the ground, fighting to keep my eyes open as people request new garments. Each time, I must rifle through my stack, looking for an appropriate size. More than a few times, I misjudge people's appearances and hand over a cloak too big or too small.

I'm in the process of sorting through the stack, frequently glancing up at the woman standing before me for size reference, when a wail breaks through the clearing. I turn around, and my gaze settles on a little boy across the clearing. Tears drip down his cheeks, onto the brown fur robe he's wrapped in. The robe is familiar, and it takes a moment for me to realize that it's one I made.

"E-excuse me," I stammer. My tired brain senses something is wrong but can't quite process what it is.

"It's cold!" the boy cries. He shivers to solidify the point.

"But it's an extra warm robe," his mother says, mystified. She glances up at the weaver passing out the robes, who shakes her head in bafflement.

"May I see it?" I ask.

The boy's mother unwraps the robe. He wears long sleeves underneath, but his hands are exposed and are a sickly shade of blue. I take the robe from his mother, and ice seeps into my skin.

"That's odd. It felt cold to me, too," his mother says.

I open the robe, gently running my hands up and down the weave. I try not to seem too invested in what I'm searching for, just in case someone else decides to inspect my handiwork in a similar way. A white glint catches my eyes, the faintest of pale sparkles threaded in the robe. My chest squeezes with worry, maybe even fear. I've made a horrible mistake, probably when I was too tired to think about what I was doing.

I force my features to relax, and I shake my head in feigned confusion. "How strange. I must've messed this one up somehow. Let me fix it, and it will be ready by tomorrow."

"Thank you," the boy's mother says. She takes his hand and leads him away, wiping away the stray tears on his face.

I return to my station and continue sorting through the clothes. But my hands flip through the garments slower than usual, like they're afraid they'll make another mistake. All I can think about is the moonlight I sewed into the robe. It could've given the child a cold, even frozen the child to death if he was out too long in frigid weather.

I have to be more careful in the future. Already, the effects of one sleepless night are weighing me down. I have to keep my wits about me and avoid more careless mistakes.

***

Another nail breaks. Pain pierces the tender skin underneath it, and a pinprick of red bubbles to the surface, threatening to stain the moonlight strand resting beneath my finger pad. I let out a soft groan, suppressing my frustration so the other tribe members don't hear me.

I sink deeper into my pillow, curl myself a little more around the robe. I was too tired to escape to the forest this evening to work on the robe, much less hunt for starlight. Too many nights have passed without proper rest, and I'm paying the price. Nausea swirls in my stomach, and dizziness in my head. It isn't wise to work in my bed under the canopy of blankets I created to block the shining moonbeams from view as sleep threatens to capture me at any moment. But it's the best I can come up with at the moment. I have to finish this robe for tomorrow, just in case people get suspicious as to why I haven't fixed it yet.

In the past months, I've experienced many firsts. But removing ethereal thread from a robe tops the list as the most tedious and annoying task I've ever done. The strands are so fine that I'm constantly losing them within the tight weave. They blend so effortlessly into the blues and grays. At least the night's darkness helps the moonlight's sparkle to show up better.

How many robes have I messed up in the past months?

This question keeps plaguing my mind. I no sooner think that I've tamped it down — smothered any chance of that being the case or accepted my fate of undoing countless more moonlight strands — when the thought returns, more nagging than before. Part of me wants to break into the storeroom to find out for sure.

I consciously force my eyelids open. It's like we're in a battle, or perhaps a game: they drop halfway, and I have to shove them up before they close completely. My finger slips under another strand and tugs, ripping the delicate weave I worked so hard to achieve. Threads from the main coat unravel along with it, but surprisingly, it's nothing that can't be easily repaired. I'm mostly able to remove the moonlight without having to redo the whole thing.

It might be easier just to redo the whole robe.

While I debate this idea, a slight noise sounds outside, like a pebble hitting stone. I try to ignore it. It's probably only an animal. But I feel like someone's sneaking up on me. I can't explain why. My skin crawls with anxiety for seemingly no reason. I shift so my legs cover the robe, then poke my head out from the blankets. A silhouette is in my room, shadowy in the faint light. My pulse ticks up, fear pulsing in my chest, in my veins. Who is visiting me in the middle of the night?

Could it be the Earthwatcher?

I shove that thought aside. The Earthwatcher couldn't be here. She always sends her butterfly minions to fetch me. She wouldn't venture into camp... would she?

I'm not sure if it comforts me or increases my anxiety knowing that the visitor most likely isn't the Earthwatcher. Because if it's a tribe member, I might be caught with moonlight...

"Celisae?" the figure whispers. "Are you awake?"

I sag with relief. It's only Ixek.

"Yes," I say.

"Why are you still here? Are you not coming tonight?"

I inhale a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I, uh, no. I have some work to finish." And I'm very, very tired.

"But I think I found starlight." I sit upright in bed. Ixek is closer now, and I can see a sparkle of excitement in his eyes, though the rest of his face remains stoic.

"Are you sure?"

"Fairly," he says with a degree of uncertainty. "It's like you described it, strands of glimmering pinks, blues, and purples."

"Where is it? Is it far?" Despite my longing to rest tonight, I shouldn't pass up the opportunity to collect the light since it presented itself. I just hope the light isn't destroyed by the time I reach it.

"Not far. It's just... over a pretty steep canyon. It might be hard to get there, but I figured it's better than nothing."

I'm already out of bed, shoving the messed-up robe inside the wooden chest in exchange for my bag and a baggy robe to go over top. We leave the cave and climb up the cliff. Each grasping for another stone hand-hold leaves me exhausted and panting, but I dig into the deepest reserves of strength and willpower to make it. From there, Ixek leads the way, explaining that he had spent the day searching the mountainside for any sign of starlight. As wary as I am of his help — he could turn me in to Nal m'se at any moment, maybe already has — I'm grateful to have some help with this final task. Honestly, I'm not sure I could do everything on my own this time.

We travel through a part of the forest I've never seen before. Here, almost every tree bends into each other, like a crowd of slouching figures watching us. I try to ignore the large spots on some trunks that eerily resemble eyes in the pale moonlight, which snakes between the barren branches above. The trees taper along another rocky path that brings us higher between two cliffs.

Abruptly, my next step disappears, swallowed by a gaping chasm. I gasp, stepping back from the edge.

"There it is." Ixek points to the cliff beyond. Pinks, blues, and purples flicker against the dark. If that's not starlight, I don't know what it is.

I peer over the edge, into the abyss that separates us from the other side. It's so deep, I can't even see the bottom. I'm not sure if it comforts me, since I can't see the kind of death I'll die if I were to fall, or if the unknown makes me more anxious. Probably the latter, now that I think about it.

"Good find," I say. His face is shadowed, but I detect a slight smile on his face. "The only question now is how we get over there."

"What?"

"I think it's too far to try to play from here. The music grows less potent from a distance. I'm afraid that it's a bit too far to properly hear and respond to it."

"But you can't go over there," Ixek protests. He motions to the canyon.

My eyes scan the steep sides of the rock on our right. There's no detectable path of notches to go across, and besides, I'm too tired to be hanging off a cliff for a long period of time.

"We might have to forget it for tonight," I say. A lump rises in my throat, though I'm not sure why. Perhaps I was more desperate than I realized for the starlight.

Ixek sighs. Crickets chime in the night, filling in the lull in conversation. "There might be a way across," he murmurs at last.

"Really? How?"

He turns to me, then shakes his head. "Sorry, just thinking out loud."

"No, what is it?"

"It's not safe," he says, more firmly.

"Ixek, I need this starlight. Who knows if we'll find more? If there's any chance of getting across, it's worth it to me."

"But not the tribe. If you die, we'll be losing a valuable member." Silence pulses between us. I can't quite wrap my head around what he said. I'm considered... valuable? Ixek continues before I formulate a reply. "We need your skills to survive. We stay warm because of you and are able to trade for vital medicines and herbs, all thanks to you. Please, don't mistake your life for being expendable."

I chew my lip, torn. Part of me is still stunned that the tribe, that he, thinks I'm important. For so long, I've tried to be one of them. I never expected my dream to be fulfilled standing on a cliff's edge. I never expected it to come true the moment when I must take my life into my hands.

My eyes shut out the darkness, the moonlight, the sparks of starlight in the distance. I know what I must do. I never had a choice. The Earthwatcher didn't give me one.

"I have to get across there, Ixek," I say quietly, so as to not shatter the moment. "If I don't, I won't be part of the tribe anymore."

"What are you talking about?" Ixek asks. "Why must you do this? Is it for the robes?"

"Sort of..." I sink to the ground, the weight of reality finally crumpling me. I bite my lip, debating how much I should share.

"What do you mean?" Ixek asks. "Do you think you have to prove yourself in some way? Because what you've been doing is certainly good enou—"

"No, no," I say, clutching at my temples. "It's not that. I just have to make something."

Ixek crouches in front of me. His dark eyes pierce through the night so I can see the intensity behind them. "What do you have to make with starlight?"

"I—" Goosebumps break out across my arms. I'm suddenly reminded of what the Earthwatcher told me. "After all, I do see everything." Is she watching me right now? Will she punish me for telling Ixek about her bargain?

Will he abandon me if I reveal my secret?

Staring into his eyes right now, his dark, searching eyes, I know I'm not willing to find out.

"Someone asked me to make them a robe of starlight. You know, as a favor. I'm just trying to help them out." I inhale a deep breath, slowly let it out. Ixek doesn't drop his searching gaze.

"You sure about that? You can tell me if there's a problem..."

"There's no problem," I assert. "Just a favor. And I stick to my word."

Ixek doesn't seem convinced. Finally, he exhales like he's given up. "Alright, Celisae. If you insist. But if anything happens to you, just know that your blood will be on my hands." I glance down at his long, slender fingers, attached to a thin palm and bony wrist. Guilt courses through me, but there's no other way. I can't risk not finding more starlight.