He watched her loom above the ledge.
She peered down. “You can walk that?”
He turned to the tightrope strung to the tower. “You wove it.”
The clothomancer dismissed her magic loom with a snap, handing him a net. “For the guards.”
“I’ll save your son.”
“Bless you.”
Copyright © 2019 by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.
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