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Summer was over, and though the sun still shone brightly and fiercely, there was less heat in its glare.

In truth, when Princess Túrien left for her homeland, my normal routine seemed a little lifeless. I woke early as usual, dragged my things to the marketplace, spent the morning scowling under the welcome shade under the awnings while nobody even lingered for a moment to look at my stall. I went home every afternoon, sewed without any particular passion or inspiration until I was to entirely sick of it that I stalked off to let off some steam in the baths.

And then I went to bed, and then I woke early as usual, and.... it just repeated, over and over, the sheer monotony of it nearly driving me mad. I envied my sister, watching her run to where the Golden Serpent only knew with her little friends every morning, with unbearably mischievous smirks on their angelic little faces.

One morning, though, Miarka's antics livened up my foreseeable future through, unusually for her, a complete accident.

One morning the sun was just beginning to rise one the horizon and sent streaks of dusky pink across the greying sky. It was a chilly morning, and if I was not carrying my various parcels I would have rubbed my bare arms. I knew that, all too soon, it would be warmer as the sun slowly extended its golden light, but at the moment the streets were in shadow and a stiff breeze, which would be a welcome relief in late afternoon, sent gooseflesh up my skin and I shivered. It amazed me how the temperature in the desert could change so quickly.

I stood for a few minutes, staring at my obscure little stall. A stand would be a more appropriate term, for it was little more than a table wedged into an inconspicuous corner of the large open square. To my right was a popular fruit vendor, who was arranging her coconuts in a pyramid as I stood lost in thought. She was a kindly woman, one of the few who had taken Miarka and I under their wing for the few days between Mother's death and Grandmother's arrival. She always smiled kindly at me but I suspected she could not take me seriously, childlike as I was even though my fifteenth birthday was just past.

I blinked, and busied myself with arranging the glorified table with bright silks and embroidered gauze. The basket of scarves here, the shawls folded over each other attractively, veils fluttering from under the awnings. I sighed, sat down on the three-legged stool behind the counter that wobbled because one of the legs were crooked, and cupped my face in my hands, preparing myself for the boredom that awaited me.

"Good morning!"

My ears perked up at the familiar high voice, like that of a panpipe - it was Miarka. She often showed up to speak to Thekla and I, pretending to be one of the 'big girls.' Either that or she came to hide from one of the women she'd angered through her pranks.

Although, she wasn't addressing me- she was talking to Riyadh, the fruit merchant. I eavesdropper shamelessly as she wheeled and charmed her way to the top coconut on the pyramid. She swung her way around the counter, elbowed her way between our stalls and edged onto my stool. It wobbled uncertainly, nearly upsetting us both, and we giggled.

"What is that for?" I asked, meaning the coconut. "Us, silly," Miarka said, reaching up to tap my head affectionately with the comically hairy brown fruit. "You woke me up early this morning, you beast, and we haven't had breakfast yet. I am not bothered to cook anything, so here we are."

Her thoughtfulness made my eyes prickle, and I blinked, horrified I was so close to tears. I ignored my emotions though and frowned, putting on my best big sister voice. "Miarka, it's not usual practise to just ask for things, you know that. You have to pay for them, or barter with something else. You won't get away with acting sweet and innocent when you get older."

"Do you think I care about that? I can't take it back anyway and I'll save some for Grandmother. I'll break it open," she added eagerly and raised the nut high above her head.

Now, all Haradrim are aware of the fact that coconuts are notoriously difficult to open. Once you did, the sweet chewy flesh makes it worth the effort, but most people would attack it with something heavy, like a rock, or the heavy butt of a borrowed kilij. My sister, bless her, meant only well. But she had other ideas - before I could stop her, she smashed the nut against the flimsy poles that held up the flimsy cloth that gave me the only relief I had from the merciless sun during my long mornings at the stall, with all her strength.

Well, that went well.

I realised, of course, that my stall was rickety and liable to crumple up and fall apart if I leaned on it too much. I knew how flimsy the timber was, how precariously it was built - I was no carpenter and could not tell the mechanics of the thing but I had been aware the thing was unsteady. This was why I only ever moved around the unreliable timber frame, knowing it would cause serious damage lest it actually break one day and do me a serious injury if it landed on my head. I believed this knowledge to be common sense. And it seemed that dear little sister, although she had one of the kindest hearts in the world, possessed none of the aforementioned common sense.

It might not even have been so bad had Miarka aimed for the sturdy tabletop. But the poles, those splintering sticks that were the only thing holding the frame above our heads in place, that was a different matter. The one Miarka hit smashed into a veritable shower of splinters before she even realised what she had done, and the others gave up the ghost soon afterwards. The flimsy, rotting wooden frame dropped, smashing over us, with the stool breaking apart beneath us, trapping our heads, shoulders and most of our upper body in a myriad of splinters and destroyed planks, the beige cotton awning fluttering softly down to rest on our heads.

"You idiot!" I shrieked, trying to wriggle my arms free. The exposed wood grated my arms and the splinters that stuck randomly out pinched me terribly. My head ached from the hit, and I was seeing double of Miarka's shadow though the opaque fabric.

"I'm sorry!" Miarka squealed again and again, voice even more high-pitched than usual. I could feel her trying to wriggle free too, giving little gasps of pain. I thought of the scene we must be causing - not that I could see people's expressions as the rough cloth still obscured my vision, but I could imagine their expressions - bemused, laughing, eye rolling, even annoyed at the disturbance. I knew Thekla and her family were visiting her sister's soon-to-be husband in Abrakhân for the week and therefore I could not rely on her to be of help.

"Stay still!"

I did not recognise the voice but Miarka and I stopped struggling and became still. The dusty awning was pulled from over our heads and the frame gently lifted over our heads and set aside. My sister and I struggled to our feet, stumbling a little from dizziness and pulling splinters from our arms It was Riyadh and her husband, and I almost fell over again with relief.

"Thank you, so very much. My sister is an idiot," I said, trying to smile with gratitude but only succeeding in glaring angrily at Miarka. With one stupid act she had ruined an entire month's work while simultaneously placing the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back when it came to Mother's old stall. The Father that I had grown up hearing so much praise (from Mother) and cutting remarks (from Grandmother) about had fashioned it for her just after they were married, and a worse carpenter had never walked the streets of Harmindon. However, he made it with love, and now it was ruined. I would have cried if I hadn't been so angry.

I had not the energy to be angry for long, though. Poor Miarka was in tears, whether from pain or remorse I was unsure, stammering apology after apology. I reached out for her and hugged the poor girl.

I had almost forgotten Riyadh. "Poor child, I must return to my stall but I will send my sons to help you clear away this mess." With Miarka still in my arms, I caught her husband's eye and nodded gratefully.

The two youths, a little younger than me, were obviously reluctant to spend their morning rescuing bits of brightly coloured fabric from the pile of wreckage that belonged to a strange girl. Yet they did their job well, stacking what remained of the frame and poles to one side and helping me gather the torn silk into the handkerchief basket. Miarka had a cut on her cheek from a stray splinter and was clearly in shock, standing to one side, whimpering and holding her arms to stop them shaking.

Though I still had a headache, I put my nose in the air and put on my best proud and independent Haradrim woman look when I dismissed the boys, thanking them haughty for their services. Relieved, they disappeared, and now that the mess was cleared people stopped staring and went about their business, excitement over, as if nothing happened.

I tried to carry Miarka home because I felt so sorry for her but when I attempted it my head spun dangerously and I had to lean against a nearby wall for a minute or so to regain my equilibrium. My sister and I stumbled home together, and when we fell through the door at last Grandmother was there to meet us.

"What have you been up to, hmm?" She clicked her tongue disapprovingly even as she examined Miarka's face with concern. She set about bathing the cut with warm water as I explained.

"In a way this is a good thing," Grandmother said thoughtfully. Before, I would have snorted and asked her how did she expect something positive to come out of this disaster, but Grandmother was a more positive person than I and tended to have good ideas. So I held my tongue and sipped some water tentatively, my head feeling as though a large timber frame had crashed upon it.

Which, of course, it had.

"I have a new project for you, Jeddah. I know a woman who sells cloth, you can go to her with one or two of those fancy shawls and barter for a length of material for a new awning - but not a dusty orange or beige or something that blends in with the crowd, but something purple, something scarlet, that stands out completely. You will then embroider it in gold, add tassels, hemming, whatever you feel will make people appreciate your art from afar. It will display to people what you are capable of."

I thought about it, trying to find a flaw in the plan that I could argue out in my usual disgruntled fashion, but it really was quite a good idea.

"One small point, Grandmother. The idea is a good one, but it does not solve the problem of how I am to afford a new stall."

Grandmother nodded but seemed to have a solution for this too.

"The table itself was sturdy enough. The stool you sat upon was only three-legged, yet those legs were strong. And there was surely one supporting pole at least that survived. And the frame can be tied together with ropes of cloth. You can patch it up, I believe in you." I began to think the plan was a little far-fetched, but there was something in it, I had to admit. I had one condition, though.

"Miarka must help me, and also not go near it ever again afterwards, especially not wielding a coconut." Miarka giggled, her old cheery self returning rapidly from Grandmother's sympathy. "I will help you, I swear."

"We begin at dawn."

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