13th Summer, 513AV
Tsaba carefully copied the water-damaged illustration of a grid pattern onto a new sheet of parchment and was almost finished before she noticed that she'd skipped an entire row one square to the left.
"Oh, the rotting..."
A lot of people would have shrugged and moved on, but not her. She was going to make a perfect reproduction no matter how long it took. Or as close to as she could before Lisaelis started remarking on her slowness. She tossed the parchment onto the pile of mistakes and pulled out a fresh one.
Tsaba had learned that crewel embroidery was distinct from counted-thread embroidery, which required even-weave fabric. She'd learned that the ideal embroidery choice was heavily dependent on the material used. She'd learned that blanket stitching was popular not only in quilting, but in embroidery and even wound closure.
But the fact that had been pressed into her mind most strongly was that embroidery patterns were very, very difficult to copy.
Tsaba set her jaw. It did not matter that it was difficult. It did not matter that the topic was incredibly boring and, in Tsaba's opinion, largely pointless. the book was a book, a piece of somebody's life set lovingly on paper; somebody had found embroidery important enough to write a long, boring, very complicated text on it, and it was Tsaba's duty to honour that. To continue the unbroken line of copywork from the first book that the author had inked part of their mind onto, to the one sitting before her. Because Tsaba...
Tsaba was a scribe.