12 Winter, 511 AV Anchorage Flotilla Reviewing the items spread on the deck between her splayed legs with consternation, Sable prodded at the materials. The sleeve of her simple, but quality, linen shirt had detached. Though the holes left behind seemed worrisome, the woman picked out the broken threads that had attached the sleeve to the shirt. A small pile of creamy white bits grew next to the needle and thread she was planning on operating with. Fumbling with the material, there suddenly seemed to be too much shirt, Sable struggled to hold the two pieces together so that the stitches would properly align them. The red thread, chosen because she’d already started using it, contrasted nicely with the whitish material…even if the stitches were messy, uneven, and left weird bunches. The two edges did not meet perfectly, and when she tried the repaired shirt on, it tugged and tightened around her shoulder blade. Grumbling, the sea-farer snapped the sewing case shut and stuffed it between a set of crates nearby. Swinging her arms back and forth, testing the new fit of her left sleeve, Sable plodded to the gangway that attached her Sparkle to the Anchorage Flotilla. News spread faster than palm fronds in a hurricane amongst the Svefra, so, even though she’d only put feelers out this morning, the six bells since then seemed to be weeks. She just wanted a companion to visit Black Beach Cavern with. All they had to do was show up at her Casinor. And smile, preferably. |