Amara wove the cloth on her grandmother's loom, a frame of taut vertical threads — the warp — stretched across the whole width. Each day she passed the shuttle through another row, building the fabric from the bottom upward. By the fourth day the weave covered the whole frame. But that night the cat found its way into the workshop and clawed through the topmost row of weaving — the freshest work, where the threads hadn't yet set. The warp threads in that row still held, but the horizontal weft was gone. She rewove the torn row the next morning.