The Dragon's Tapestry

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Grondil, the Oldwife, felt Srill’s eyes upon her, felt the young woman listening intently to every word she said. Sometimes a movement, a breath, the slightest change, and Grondil would stop and, with her hand on Srill’s belly, would measure her pain, share it. The magic felt strong.

“The child’s life thread is a long one,” Grondil said, measur­ing out the first of the threads to be laid beside the inkle loom in the order that she would need them. She did not see Srill smile. The warp had already been wound around the pegs in readiness, but her hands would need to be quick in order to finish the tapestry before the child was born.

For years, since the death of her mother, Grondil had been alone, but during a birthing there would often be many hands to help and her house would be full. For Srill who had no husband, however, there would be no help and no hands but Grondil’s own to deliver the child and work the tapestry. It was dangerous having no witness to the tapestry. If it were lost or destroyed, it could not be remade. But Srill had seemed almost glad when she had come to Grondil, full of pain and joy, alone.

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