I found out today that I was not the only one who could do this. I turned down a narrow alley and nearly ran into her. I knew she couldn't see me, but she knew I was there. Her skin was an unhealthy white, as if she'd never seen the sun, and over her eyes there was a bloodstained scarf. She held the loom like those frescoes of angels with harps in the heavenly chorus, and turned her face up to mine, an unsettling smile spreading across her face. She began weaving.
I pulled out the paper I had pre-written in case of emergencies. It read in my neat, even script a single word, "Sword." I reached through the paper and pulled out the one-handed, simple but sharp sword that lay in wait within, just in time to block a wicked-looking trident from goring me. I hadn't even seen the woman reach through her loom, but I knew what she had done. I stepped back and took a deep breath. This would be one hell of a fight.
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