The seamstress’s carriage rolled through the gates of the Crescent Moon Pack under the early glow of the morning sun.
Guards bowed low in greeting, their movements measured, respectful. The seamstress nodded through her veil, concealing her expression as her driver halted the carriage at the familiar courtyard.
Her driver climbed down and began unloading the boxes one by one onto the long wooden table that had been prepared for her. This table was always hers, her small kingdom of fabrics and threads. She set to work at once, unfolding the gowns with steady hands, arranging them in neat, elegant rows.
The air was soon filled with laughter and excitement. The females of the Crescent Moon Pack gathered quickly, their chatter bubbling like a stream. Silken dresses shimmered in the morning
