Bram hung the violet silk in his shop window. Rain began to fall. He touched the silk — smooth and cool against his fingertips.
Bram tried drying the violet silk by the stove, but it curled and stiffened. His shoulders relaxed as he stroked the indigo cloth — soft as a cloud, smelling faintly of rain.
The boy arrived, shivering. Bram showed him the indigo cloth.
Tiny silver threads shimmered in the firelight as the boy touched it. "It's like holding the night sky," he whispered.
Bram nodded, content.
The boy left with a scrap of indigo wrapped in paper.
Bram folded the remaining bolt carefully. He placed it on the highest shelf.
He sat by the window as the rain slowed. The shop felt quiet and complete. He hummed a low tune.