Disclaimer; I do not own any of the characters or places mentioned in this story. They are the creation of the great Tamora Pierce, and I am only borrowing them. This is just an idea that got stuck in my head and refused to leave . . . I hope it's not too abysmal.

Sandry

Sandrilene fa Toren wove. The clack-click of the loom sunk into her skin, kept time with her heart beat, as her deft fingers fed the shuttle between the wefts. Surrounded by a dome of her power, she focused her mind on the material that was growing under her fingers. She pressed into it the importance of being clean, of being crease free. Then, a small smile playing around her mouth, she added to the pattern the need for silence. Although Briar's days as a thief were over, Sandry thought he would appreciate the sentiment. As graceful as a cat, stealth was a part of him, as deeply set as his magic, and he always seemed to find situations where his old skills were required.

She came to the end of the thread, and locked it into place. She looked at the sheet of plain white cotton and smiled, imagining Briar wearing it as a shirt, maybe working in the gardens. Perhaps travelling in it; Rosethorn had mentioned they might go to study gardens of other cultures, try to help farmers in places less bountiful. She sat back from the loom, stretching her arms. Later she would cut and sew the material, but for now she needed a change of task. She looked around, and saw Tris's skirt. It was cut and sewn, but it still needed something . . . Sandry remembered a few days ago, when she had seen Tris admiring a blouse in the market. It had been embroidered with roses along the sleeves and collar. "It's nice, but it's so fussy! Where could you wear it?" Tris had asked.

'It's been a while since I've done any embroidery' thought Sandry and she pulled her power into herself, winding it tight like a ball of wool. When she had gathered it all in, she got up, brushing off her skirt. The dust fell off immediately, but she had a coat of white fuzz down one side. She sighed, and used a pinch of her power to call the wool into her hand. It obeyed almost at once, forming a neat strip in her palm. "I'll need to do the charm again" she murmured to herself, putting the wool on a table. She picked up a spool of thread, dyed rust brown, and an embroidery needle. She looked at the skirt for a while, trying to decide what pattern. A vine started to grow in her minds eye, leaves sprouting along it; a remnant of Briar that had remained from her weaving. She smiled and picked up the skirt. Not too fussy, but it would add a touch of pretty to the skirt. Tris would like that.