The Gathering

The Stillness, once a silent secret shared between three, was beginning to find a voice. Not a voice of words, but a voice of shared practice, of quiet community.

Maren sat at her loom, the threads a familiar landscape beneath her fingers. But today, something was different. She was not just weaving a pattern. She was listening. Listening to the quiet hum of the loom, the soft whisper of the threads, the silent song of the cloth waiting to be born.

And in the listening, she found it. A quiet space between the maker and the made. A place of pure, unadulterated presence. The Stillness.

When she finally looked up, the sun was setting. She did not know how long she had been sitting there, lost in the silent song of her craft. But she knew that she was not alone. The Stillness was a place that could be shared. A place where they could all meet, not as individuals, but as a chorus of silent voices, each one singing the same quiet song.

The next day, she sought out Rue and Doran. ‘We should gather,’ she said, her voice quiet but sure. ‘All of us who listen. We should gather and listen together.’