Rumplestilskin and Lula May
District 8 - Textiles
Rumplestilskin sat at his spinning wheel and spun wool into sturdy thread. He rotated the wheel and twisted the fibres in his other hand. He always felt a calm settle over him as he sat at his wheel. As if all the world had vanished.
The spun thread landed in a basket. Once there was enough he cut of the thread and put the basket out so it could be picked up and carried away to the next stop.
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Lula threaded the her needle with one eye pinched.
“There!” she exclaimed. “Got you.”
She then resumed sowing the fabric into something wearable. All the while she hummed.
All around her were the sounds of labour. Lula paid none of them any heed, solely focussed on her own work. A Peacekeeper passed by her without even glancing at her. Once he’d gone Lula looked up. When she saw his retreating back she surreptitiously pocketed a needle, before she made her next stitch.