Click-clack, click-clack…
The weaving workshop in Sedona City buzzed with relentless activity, its looms humming in a rhythmic chorus. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of raw linen and the faint tang of sweat. Women weavers, their hands deft and practiced, operated the looms with precision, each striving to produce just one more bolt of cloth to earn a few extra copper coins.
The workshop operated on a piece-rate system: the more cloth you wove, the more coins you pocketed. Each weaver had a daily quota to meet, but for every additional bolt completed beyond that, a shiny copper coin was awarded as a bonus. For the common folk of Sedona City, this was no small incentive. A single copper coin was a treasure when a full day's wage amounted to just three. The promise of that extra coin fueled their determination, their fingers flying across the looms with practiced grace.
The workshop ran on a two-shift system: ten hours of night shift and ten hours of day shift, making for a grueling twenty-hour production cycle. The remaining four hours were designated for rest, a small reprieve in an otherwise relentless schedule. Many workers, driven by the lure of extra earnings, begged to work twelve-hour shifts. But Lucas, the workshop's overseer, forbade it. He had seen too many defective bolts produced by exhausted hands, and quality was non-negotiable. Ten hours was the limit, no exceptions, no matter how much the workers pleaded.
Among the weavers was Gaba, a bear-kin woman whose presence was impossible to ignore. Standing a towering two meters tall, with long chestnut hair cascading down her back and deep brown eyes that gleamed with quiet resolve, she was a giant compared to the average human women, who barely reached one meter sixty. To them, Gaba was a veritable titan, her muscular frame and commanding stature earning her whispers of awe. Yet, despite her imposing appearance, she worked with a delicate precision that belied her size. Her output was legendary, consistently ranking among the top three in the entire workshop.
Click-clack, click-clack…
Gaba's hands moved like a dancer's, threading the shuttle through the loom with speed and finesse. The wooden frame rattled with each pass, joining the symphony of clattering looms that filled the workshop. No one spoke; there was no time for idle chatter. Every weaver was focused, their minds fixed on the same goal: weave more, earn more. For many, including Gaba, the dream was to save enough coins to buy a home and settle permanently in Sedona City, a place that had become a beacon of hope for so many.
Gaba paused for a moment, exhaling softly as she shook out her aching wrists. Her broad shoulders rolled, and her spine cracked audibly as she straightened her back. Hours of hunching over the loom left her body stiff, and even the slightest movement sent pops and creaks through her joints. She glanced at the bolt of cloth before her, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. 'One bolt finished ahead of schedule today,' She thought, pride swelling in her chest. 'I'm getting faster.'
She stretched her arms and legs, loosening the tension in her muscles, then dove back into her work with renewed vigor. Finishing a bolt early meant she could start on another, potentially earning an extra coin or two. In the workshop, every completed bolt was meticulously recorded. If a weaver left their loom, the next shift would pick up where they left off, ensuring no thread was wasted.
Time slipped away unnoticed when Gaba was engrossed in her work. The repetitive motion of the loom, the steady rhythm of the shuttle, became almost meditative. Before she knew it, a loud clang shattered the workshop's hum.
Dong! Dong! Clang!
"Shift's over!" The manager's voice boomed. "Pack up your things, and you're free to go!"
The copper gong's echo signaled the end of the day shift. Gaba let out a soft sigh, her shoulders slumping as she glanced at the partially woven linen on her loom. She pulled a measuring tape from her pocket, carefully noting the length of the cloth, and jotted it down in the ledger beside her station. She waited patiently for the manager to make his rounds.
The manager, a wiry man with sharp eyes, approached her station. He inspected the cloth, running his fingers along its edges to check for flaws. His eyebrows shot up as he recorded her output. "Gaba, you've outdone yourself again," He said, his tone a mix of admiration and disbelief. "Another extra segment? You're a machine!"
Gaba offered a modest smile, brushing off the praise. "Just doing my job," She replied, her voice warm but reserved. Once the manager confirmed her numbers, she stood, her towering frame casting a shadow over the looms as she headed for the exit.
At the workshop's entrance, the guard checked her ledger to ensure no weaving patterns were being smuggled out—a strict rule to protect the workshop's designs. Satisfied, he waved her through. As Gaba stepped into the cool evening air, her stomach let out a loud, impatient growl.
She grimaced, giving her belly a playful swat. "Quiet down, you," She muttered. "We're heading home for some barley porridge soon enough."
Thud, thud, thud…
Gaba joined the throng of workers streaming toward the heart of Sedona City. Her long strides carried her through the bustling commercial district, where merchants hawked their wares and the scent of fresh bread and roasting meat filled the air. As she approached the central square, she noticed a crowd gathered, their voices buzzing with excitement.
"What's going on?" She wondered aloud, her height giving her a clear view over the sea of heads. "Another decree from the city lord?"
The chatter around her provided the answer. "The city lord's recruiting again!" One man exclaimed, his eyes alight with ambition. "I'm going to make it this time. They say there's big chunks of meat every day for soldiers!"
"Train hard, and you'll eat well," Another added.
"I got cut last time for being too slow," A third voice chimed in. "But I've been practicing my running. This time, I'll pass for sure!"
Gaba listened quietly, her expression neutral. She knew what recruitment meant: the city lord was bolstering the militia to protect Sedona City. The promise of hearty meals was tempting, but the pay was less than what she earned at the workshop, and the long stretches away from home were a dealbreaker. Gaba had responsibilities beyond herself—her younger sister, Emma, depended on her.
'If it were just me, maybe I'd consider it,' She thought, her mind drifting to the image of her frail sister waiting at home. 'But Emma needs me. I can't leave her alone.'
Thud, thud, thud…
"I'll get Emma a couple of meat buns today," Gaba decided, veering toward the bun shop. It was a small indulgence, a reward for the extra cloth she'd woven. The shop was crowded, as it always was at this hour when the workshops let out. Gaba joined the queue, her towering figure drawing curious glances from the other customers.
After a twenty-minute wait, she finally secured two steaming meat buns, their savory aroma making her stomach rumble again. Clutching the warm parcel, she hurried toward the modest two-person rental she called home. The rent was affordable, a small mercy she credited to the city lord's policies. Sedona City was one of the few places that welcomed beast-kin like her and her sister, offering them a chance to build a life.
As she reached the door, Gaba fished out her key and stepped inside. A soft, fragile voice greeted her the moment she crossed the threshold. "Sister, you're back!"
Gaba's stern features softened instantly. Sitting on the edge of the bed was Emma, her younger sister. At fifteen, three years younger than Gaba, Emma was a bear-kin like her sister but far more delicate. Her legs, damaged by frostbite years ago, were useless, leaving her unable to walk. She spent her days sitting or lying down, her slight frame barely reaching one meter fifty—a stark contrast to Gaba's towering height. Emma's frailty made her seem almost childlike, her thin face framed by wispy brown hair.
"Are you okay, Emma?" Gaba asked, her voice gentle as she crossed the small room.
"I'm fine," Emma replied, her voice soft as a breeze. She reached for a paper bag beside her pillow and held it out. "You must be hungry, Sister. I saved the steamed bun you bought yesterday. Eat it."
Gaba frowned, taking the bag. "Emma, why didn't you eat this? I got it for you."
"I wasn't hungry," Emma said, her pale cheeks lifting in a weak smile.
Gurgle…
The unmistakable sound of a hungry stomach betrayed her words. Emma's smile froze, and Gaba's heart ached at the sight.
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