Free The Fragile Fall At Tallow Bridge (The White Blood Chronicles Book 1) by Mark G Heath Page B

were easily as big as his torso, black and hairy. He could see their eyes glint in the lantern light as they sat poised within their place of holding. Their legs moved systematically as from beneath them a strand of silk emerged, white and glistening. Thaindire’s eyes travelled along the length of silk as it stretched from where the spider was situated until it passed beneath a large glass jar, which was inverted. Placed beneath the jar was some kind of optic, which evidently regulated the flow of the liquid, kept within the jar. The first jar contained a scintillating scarlet coloured liquid, the next an effervescent green like that upon a peacock feather. Thaindire looked on, his mouth falling open as he regarded the demijohns and their striking coloured contents. A brilliant yellow, brighter than sunlight, a deep orange which had a strange metallic hue to it, then azure and there was no doubt in his mind that the colour was the exact replica of the colour of his cloak. On went the colours, a lily white which had traces of sparkling light within it, midnight blue, Toranic purple. Thaindire wheeled round and saw that the opposite wall was similar in design. Eight spiders, eight large jars of eye-opening colours and the strands of silk leading between the two.
                  From the jars the silk lead again, this time matching the colour of the content of the jar from which it flowed from. These strands of silk jerked and twitched as they all lead to one point. The rainbow of silk fanned inwards to where a seated figure was operating some kind of loom. There was a low whirring noise as the shuttle moved backwards and forwards. A spinning wheel was beside the loom and on the other side of the seated figure a small table which bore the various tools of a seamstress. Thaindire watched in awe as the figure sat on the right hand side of the room worked the loom. Her hands darted backwards and forwards, gliding with a speed, which made them difficult to distinguish, just a blue or pink and the corresponding swish of her sleeve. Sat in the chair was a slight woman, older than Thaindire and possibly on the cusp of middle age. She had fading blonde hair, which was pinned up in a tidy bun, enabling her proud face to be easily seen. She had delicate ears, which were studded with bejewelled earrings. Her eyebrows were dark and beneath them two intense blue eyes stared at the work in progress. She was clad in a dress of purple with a golden tie about the waist. Her right foot tapped a rhythm as she continued with her work, not acknowledging their entrance.
                  Instinctively Thaindire looked across to the left and there seated with the same machinery about her was a younger woman, a few years older than Kathryn. She also wore her hair in a bun, but it was strawberry-blonde in colour. Her features were sharper than that of the first seamstress but her eyes, also blue, were just as intent on remaining on her fast-moving hands. Her frame was tiny and was accentuated by a close-fitting dress of a mid yellow colour, a sapphire-coloured tie, similar in design to that of the other lady, about her waist. Without warning the pair halted their work and the whirr of the looms and wheels abated. Thaindire was certain he could hear the clacking of the spiders from behind their glass.
    “ Good day to you Mistress Kathryn,” announced the elder lady as she rose from her seat.
    “ And to you Mistress Metylda. Mistress Melissent,” acknowledged Kathryn of the younger lady who had remained seated. She did not speak.
    “ This is Master Thaindire,” declared Kathryn, “ Guest to our village of just two days and recipient of the foul greeting of the wolves of the forest,” explained the young woman.
    “ Good day Master Thaindire, how do you fare?” asked Metylda.
    “ Far better than when I first arrived, thank you,” responded Thaindire.
    “ I am Metylda Meverel and this,” she raised a dainty hand in the