5 Cylus 722
Wealth Skill: Fieldcraft
Having sorted through the clothes that he wasn't currently wearing and gathered up the ones that needed to be mended, Dan tucked himself into a warm corner of the Inn, and picked up his sewing kit and the first item to work on. One of his shirts had popped open at the seam, and he settled in to start the repairs rather than trudge around in the cold and dark for the sake of being outside.
He drew a long length of thread off the spool, tried to snap it and failed. He found a knife instead and sawed through the thread, then set the spool carefully aside where it would get neither lost nor dirty nor damaged. He threaded his needle at the third attempt, and lodged the needle carefully in the shirt he was wearing so that he couldn't drop it or otherwise lose it.
He turned the shirt inside out so his clumsy sewing would be as hidden as possible and pinched the sides of the tear together with his left hand. With his right hand, he pulled the needle free and plunged it through the cloth on one end on the tear. He meant to stop with a little bit of thread not pulled through, so he could stitch twice on the same spot, but somehow he didn't catch the end of the thread in time. He tried a second time and this time managed the double stitch that would stop the whole mend unraveling.
He shifted his pincer grip on the seam and the entire shirt slid off his lap, taking the thread with it. He still held the needle though. Dragging the shirt of the ground and back onto his knees, he fumbled over the cloth until he found the torn seam and trailing thread. He licked his fingers and ran them over the end of the thread to stiffen it, then rethreaded his needle. He sewed a line of stitches along the seam, then rotated the shirt and worked his way back along the seam, trying to fill the gaps in the first set of stitches. The new seam was still crooked and uneven, but at least he couldn't put a finger through the holes anymore. He tied a knot at the end and pulled the needle free. Tucking the needle through the shirt he was wearing again, he turned the mended shirt the right way out, and put it on one side to wash. The mend was obvious, in part because the thread didn't match the cloth, but Dan was more interested in staying warm and keeping his clothes in one piece than in looking good. Besides, the motley mends and patches broke up his outline and helped him to blend into forests and other wild places better.
The next piece of clothing to be mended was a pair of trousers where the hem had come undone on one leg. The fallen cuff had frayed at the edges. He turned the trousers inside out so he could see what he was doing, then turned the hem upward to hide the torn and frayed bits and tacked it in a few places to hold it in place. Tacking stitches were easy, large and loose and not intended to do more than temporarily hold cloth in place. Then he held it against his body to check that he hadn't turned it up so much that it was going to hang more around his calf than around his ankle. As far as he could tell, it matched the other leg and remained loose enough to layer with other clothes, so he folded it again and began to fasten the hem more securely with a smaller, tighter overhand stitch. Layers of clothing were more important to survival than any single piece of warm clothing. Layers trapped warmth between them and you could easily adjust them to suit the current temperature and level of work you were doing - shed a layer when you were putting out a lot of effort and generating heat that way, put one on when you stopped, before you got chilled. He didn't notice that the hem on the trousers wasn't quite straight, but Clint Clintson, working on his own piece of needlework not far away, did notice, and harumphed loudly.
Dan glanced up, taking in the neat geometric patterns that the other man was stitching, and raised an eyebrow. He got a short spate of words loud enough to make him wince, but no clue as to what the problem was, so he finished his hem, folded the trousers, and fished out a sock with a hole in the toe. He rethreaded his needle with more thread, then contemplated how to fix it in a way that wouldn't rub when he was walking and give him blisters. He did - had to do - a lot of walking and he needed his feet intact.
Clint pointed to the sock and asked a loud question. Dan looked at him for a moment and then fished out one of his few spoken phrases. Showme
Clint moved closer, produced a carved wooden mushroom from his sewing kit and slid the sock over it so that the hole was stretched out flat and demonstrated how to set up long flat stitches across the stretched hole and then use the needle like a miniature shuttle to weave the thread in and out of the long stitches in a darn that effectively rewove a tiny piece of new fabric into the hole without leaving rough seams where they might rub. Then he shoved sock, mushroom, and needle back to Dan as if to say that it was his turn now.
Dan, who had been watching carefully, took all three items and picked his way through the threads. In and out and in and out and a tiny stitch on the edge, where there was still cloth, to hold the line of thread securely to the sock. Then back again, under and over and under and over, each one the opposite to the one he had done the first time, and another tiny stitch at the end. His tongue poked at the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on getting it right.
When he glanced up at the end of the line, Clint gave him a curt nod and then returned to his own work. Dan nodded back in thanks and gratitude for the lesson and returned to his own work of darning the sock. Thread by thread, stitch by stitch, the hole filled it smoothly enough not to chafe. He frowned and focused hard on getting it right, and tried not to get distracted by the savoury smells beginning to waft out of the Inn's kitchen. It smelled like fresh bread and venison stew, and while the latter was common enough on his own fire, this was one he hadn't had to cook himself - which was in itself a treat, let alone the far rarer chance to have bread with it.
He finished the darn at last, and fastened off the thread securely so that it wouldn't unravel. Then he took a moment to study the wooden mushroom, running a thumb over the smooth surface and memorising the shape so that he could carve one of his own later, for future darning of socks.
Having handed the mushroom back at last, with another gruff nod of acknowledgement from Clint, Dan gathered up his mended clothes and stepped out into the cold and the dark of Cylus. He picked his way down a familiar route to his tent to put it away with the rest of his clothing, and to check over his ponies.
Cloud and Smoke were resting against each other, dozing on their feet in the warmth from his brazier, so he left them to it. He added a little more fuel to the fire, stowed his clothes in the correct containers, and stretched.
His first Cylus's in the wild had been hard scrabble things, never quite warm enough, never quite fed enough, but just barely enough to survive. More recent ones had been better. Felted horsehair hangings added extra layers to the tent walls and kept the warmth in. He got better at finding and preserving food, so that although his diet might be a monotonous round of soups and stews made from dried fish or dried meat, there was enough of it to fend off the endless hunger caused by his body needing extra fuel (in the form of food) in order to keep warm.
This Cylus was different again, with more space and more people than he was used to. He wasn't entirely sure whether that was a good thing or a bad one, but he'd reserve his judgement until Cylus was over and he could safely leave and find somewhere wild to think about it.
"Signed words" Spoken words
Wealth Skill: Fieldcraft
Having sorted through the clothes that he wasn't currently wearing and gathered up the ones that needed to be mended, Dan tucked himself into a warm corner of the Inn, and picked up his sewing kit and the first item to work on. One of his shirts had popped open at the seam, and he settled in to start the repairs rather than trudge around in the cold and dark for the sake of being outside.
He drew a long length of thread off the spool, tried to snap it and failed. He found a knife instead and sawed through the thread, then set the spool carefully aside where it would get neither lost nor dirty nor damaged. He threaded his needle at the third attempt, and lodged the needle carefully in the shirt he was wearing so that he couldn't drop it or otherwise lose it.
He turned the shirt inside out so his clumsy sewing would be as hidden as possible and pinched the sides of the tear together with his left hand. With his right hand, he pulled the needle free and plunged it through the cloth on one end on the tear. He meant to stop with a little bit of thread not pulled through, so he could stitch twice on the same spot, but somehow he didn't catch the end of the thread in time. He tried a second time and this time managed the double stitch that would stop the whole mend unraveling.
He shifted his pincer grip on the seam and the entire shirt slid off his lap, taking the thread with it. He still held the needle though. Dragging the shirt of the ground and back onto his knees, he fumbled over the cloth until he found the torn seam and trailing thread. He licked his fingers and ran them over the end of the thread to stiffen it, then rethreaded his needle. He sewed a line of stitches along the seam, then rotated the shirt and worked his way back along the seam, trying to fill the gaps in the first set of stitches. The new seam was still crooked and uneven, but at least he couldn't put a finger through the holes anymore. He tied a knot at the end and pulled the needle free. Tucking the needle through the shirt he was wearing again, he turned the mended shirt the right way out, and put it on one side to wash. The mend was obvious, in part because the thread didn't match the cloth, but Dan was more interested in staying warm and keeping his clothes in one piece than in looking good. Besides, the motley mends and patches broke up his outline and helped him to blend into forests and other wild places better.
The next piece of clothing to be mended was a pair of trousers where the hem had come undone on one leg. The fallen cuff had frayed at the edges. He turned the trousers inside out so he could see what he was doing, then turned the hem upward to hide the torn and frayed bits and tacked it in a few places to hold it in place. Tacking stitches were easy, large and loose and not intended to do more than temporarily hold cloth in place. Then he held it against his body to check that he hadn't turned it up so much that it was going to hang more around his calf than around his ankle. As far as he could tell, it matched the other leg and remained loose enough to layer with other clothes, so he folded it again and began to fasten the hem more securely with a smaller, tighter overhand stitch. Layers of clothing were more important to survival than any single piece of warm clothing. Layers trapped warmth between them and you could easily adjust them to suit the current temperature and level of work you were doing - shed a layer when you were putting out a lot of effort and generating heat that way, put one on when you stopped, before you got chilled. He didn't notice that the hem on the trousers wasn't quite straight, but Clint Clintson, working on his own piece of needlework not far away, did notice, and harumphed loudly.
Dan glanced up, taking in the neat geometric patterns that the other man was stitching, and raised an eyebrow. He got a short spate of words loud enough to make him wince, but no clue as to what the problem was, so he finished his hem, folded the trousers, and fished out a sock with a hole in the toe. He rethreaded his needle with more thread, then contemplated how to fix it in a way that wouldn't rub when he was walking and give him blisters. He did - had to do - a lot of walking and he needed his feet intact.
Clint pointed to the sock and asked a loud question. Dan looked at him for a moment and then fished out one of his few spoken phrases. Showme
Clint moved closer, produced a carved wooden mushroom from his sewing kit and slid the sock over it so that the hole was stretched out flat and demonstrated how to set up long flat stitches across the stretched hole and then use the needle like a miniature shuttle to weave the thread in and out of the long stitches in a darn that effectively rewove a tiny piece of new fabric into the hole without leaving rough seams where they might rub. Then he shoved sock, mushroom, and needle back to Dan as if to say that it was his turn now.
Dan, who had been watching carefully, took all three items and picked his way through the threads. In and out and in and out and a tiny stitch on the edge, where there was still cloth, to hold the line of thread securely to the sock. Then back again, under and over and under and over, each one the opposite to the one he had done the first time, and another tiny stitch at the end. His tongue poked at the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on getting it right.
When he glanced up at the end of the line, Clint gave him a curt nod and then returned to his own work. Dan nodded back in thanks and gratitude for the lesson and returned to his own work of darning the sock. Thread by thread, stitch by stitch, the hole filled it smoothly enough not to chafe. He frowned and focused hard on getting it right, and tried not to get distracted by the savoury smells beginning to waft out of the Inn's kitchen. It smelled like fresh bread and venison stew, and while the latter was common enough on his own fire, this was one he hadn't had to cook himself - which was in itself a treat, let alone the far rarer chance to have bread with it.
He finished the darn at last, and fastened off the thread securely so that it wouldn't unravel. Then he took a moment to study the wooden mushroom, running a thumb over the smooth surface and memorising the shape so that he could carve one of his own later, for future darning of socks.
Having handed the mushroom back at last, with another gruff nod of acknowledgement from Clint, Dan gathered up his mended clothes and stepped out into the cold and the dark of Cylus. He picked his way down a familiar route to his tent to put it away with the rest of his clothing, and to check over his ponies.
Cloud and Smoke were resting against each other, dozing on their feet in the warmth from his brazier, so he left them to it. He added a little more fuel to the fire, stowed his clothes in the correct containers, and stretched.
His first Cylus's in the wild had been hard scrabble things, never quite warm enough, never quite fed enough, but just barely enough to survive. More recent ones had been better. Felted horsehair hangings added extra layers to the tent walls and kept the warmth in. He got better at finding and preserving food, so that although his diet might be a monotonous round of soups and stews made from dried fish or dried meat, there was enough of it to fend off the endless hunger caused by his body needing extra fuel (in the form of food) in order to keep warm.
This Cylus was different again, with more space and more people than he was used to. He wasn't entirely sure whether that was a good thing or a bad one, but he'd reserve his judgement until Cylus was over and he could safely leave and find somewhere wild to think about it.
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