Ladder yarn necklacep

Previous
First 1Y 1W 2D AP
Chapter 27
Coast Guard Interceptor 10, docked with the Xlezorow.
Within milliseconds of the explosion, the interceptor’s computer responded. Jets of hot nitrogen rapidly expanded into space, pushing against the sudden artificial gravity. The radio crackled to life.
“Tug here. I’m repositioning to stop the spin. It’ll take a minute. Over”
“Interceptor 10. Copy tug. Hive, we’ll need a refuel of CGN crystals. Over”
“This is Hive. I-10, we’re sending some drones your way. Do you have any injured? Over”
“Unknown. Have a couple Evac drones on standby. Over”
“Copy. Over.”
Seconds later, the ship thunked as a few automated refuel drones found their hardpoints before taking off.
The ship’s computer beeped and a smooth female voice began to speak. "Crew, The team has been separated. One team member is not moving, while the rest of the team is moving away from him.”
The team leader frowned. “Shit, we may need to move up the time tables.” He looked over to the fabrication room.
“Hey, is our armor done?”
The analyst poked their head out from the fabricator. “Almost. Thirty seconds left. Come get it while I grab the communications stuff.
The analyst ran back over and started magneting chrome spikes onto them.
“Here’s the thin signal boosters. Make sure the tips have line of sight with each other and leave a trail of breadcrumbs if you turn corners.”
“BEEP. Attention. Team 1 is moving again. The disabled person has made small movements. Based on the gaits of the rest of the squad, it is likely Warren who is injured”
The second team’s leader grabbed his gun. “Ready up. Our current objective is to extract the disabled team member, then make contact with Team 1. Hotchkiss, prep the other bed.”
The data analyst walked over “got it.”
As the team stacked up by the airlock, their analyst ran to the back of the already cramped debriefing room and unfolded another bed next to Peter.
The team leader shook his head and exhaled sharply. “Overlay the path team 1 took on our HUDs. We’re going in now. Everyone, make sure to touch the walls and ceiling as we go to make a good 3D map. The data from before we lost contact showed anomalous readings.”
A set of colored lines appeared before them, leading down the temporary airlock and deeper into the alien vessel.
The team pushed through the airlock and stomped past catwalks full of pipes, valves, and vaguely retro sci-fi looking industrial equipment. Taking a brief look at the messy yarn of lines indicating the… first contact, they kept moving.
Finding the main hatchway, the leader checked it and saw that it was unlocked. One of them threw a sticky camera ball before they rushed towards the location of the first team.
Staying behind for a second, the breacher pulled out a stack of cones and stuck one to the door. With a flash and bang, a small hole appeared in the door. He shoved a signal booster through the hole and sprayed the gap with some Instant IronTM (for all your instant iron needs).
The squad leader hit the mic. “Coms check.”
“Received. Check.”
“Received. Over.”
A light thump signaled that the Tug had fired up again. The HUD lines they were following zig zagged down the hallway before turning right and heading up a ladder embedded in the wall. Another camera ball got slapped down at the corner, then another at the ladder junction.
“Squad, the isolated team member has begun moving through the ship. They are headed towards the current position of the rest of the team 1.”
“Copy. We’re about to climb to their deck.”
Following the map, they headed up the ladder.
“Team one is splitting up and moving throughout the ship. The isolated team member is not going to meet them at their current speed”
“Copy, we’re almost there”
As they made their way up the ladder, the coms buzzed for a second. “Datalink esta-BEEP”
The computer voice pitched down a few octaves and sounded more like an actual drill sergeant than a smart fridge.
“Critical crew member! GET HIM TO THE SHIP NOW!”
The mechanical zombie that was Warren’s suit slowly scraped towards them. They didn’t wait to rush forwards.
The team leader barked orders. “Sonz, Juniper, bring him to the ship! Everyone else, hug the wall!”
The emergency AI piped up again. “Listen up! Warren’s injuries are WAY too severe for the interceptor or the Hive’s onboard facilities. I’m taking him directly to the hub. Don’t expect him back any time soon. Sonz, Juniper, I am commandeering your suits.”
Sonz was already losing motor function as his suit locked him out.
“What? Get bent!”
“Sorry guys, he has like thirty seconds before his suit runs out of power and he dies”
Juniper rolled her eyes as her power armor landed in front of Warren and grappled him.
The fleet wide emergency AI system froze for a tenth of a second as it calculated an optimal path. ‘Sonz’ jumped down the shaft they just came from. Ignoring the ladder entirely, the AI splayed their arms and feet outwards to slide against the walls of the shaft. ‘Juniper’ threw Warren’s stiff body down and slid after them, making a controlled descent down to their original level. Once they reached the correct floor, both suits interlocked with Warren and ignited their RCS thrusters. Ten seconds of flying later, the hallways opened up to the industrial room and they flew towards the airlock.
A small jolt against the interceptor signaled the arrival of the evacuation drone.
The RCS fired jets towards the airlock to slow them down as they whizzed by. Halfway through the interceptor, they let go of Warren, who continued towards the rear docking port and into the waiting drone. “Alright guys, refuel and get back up there. My job is done. Emergency AI deactiv- Oh and fuck you Sonz! DE-activated!”
The female voice started up again.
“Mission data download successful."
Previous
First
The Torch

This is the aforementioned wholesome chapter. And it's even more wholesome because Reddit decided not to destroy the formatting this time. Yippie!
Anyway, it's been harder to get back into the swing of things writing wise than I thought, but it is happening. The next chapter after this one is a real treat, because it's a new POV that I really enjoy. Not gonna tell you who just yet, you'll have to wait until next week for that ;)
Many thanks to u/SpacePaladin15 for the universe.
Prev - First - Next --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 11: [insert witty chapter title here]
- Memory Transcription Subject: Meba, Venlil Computer Scientist
Date [Standardized Human Time]: October 19th, 2136
“It is.” Arlene smiled, close lipped, to spare me from fright.
I felt… better, sitting on the floor, with furniture strewn about like shredded documents, dust caught in my coat, talking with my friend. Yes, friend. I made a friend.
Are you sure?
And if it was an illusion, it was good enough to fall for.
Avoiding death is worth being alone.
Is it?
I hated that I still didn’t feel completely safe around her. My stupid instincts were still flaring up, and I was still having those thoughts. At least I was in control of myself for the moment.
I just need to look at it logically. If she didn’t have empathy, she wouldn’t be able to engage with me on this level. And if it was, improbable as it is, fake, then there would be nothing to gain from acting angry with me. There have been no cases of human on venlil violence. I’ve seen her eat vegetables, so why am I still scared?
“Meba, you there?” Her face was right in front of mine.
I flinched a little. “Sorry, I was thinking.”
“Well, I was thinking too. We should clean up this mess.”
I looked around at my trashed apartment. “Yes, we probably should.”
Arlene’s strength was impressive, and with her help, we got the heavy furniture righted in no time, and the dressers and drawers back into their spots, the reading chair turned back around, and the books back on the shelf. Underneath where the couch was sitting was the wool doll Arlene gave me. I was sure I left it on a shelf in the bedroom.
“Oh, you found Alexander.” Arlene picked it up off the ground. “You know, he was very grumpy when you left him on the shelf. He’s supposed to be good luck.” She pressed the doll into my paws. “You’re supposed to bring him along with you.”
“Why do you keep calling the doll a ‘he’? It’s not a real person.”
She shrugged. “It makes them cuter. Also humans can make emotional connections with pretty much anything, so that helps too I guess.”
“With inanimate objects?”
“Well, we go crazy pretty quickly if we don’t have company, so in a survival situation people usually draw faces on an object, or talk to an imaginary friend, or something like that.”
I tilted my head. “Humans are pretty lonely, aren’t they?”
She chuckled. “I guess you could say that. We’ve been looking for friends for a pretty long time. Anyway, I expect you to carry him with you from now on. In your bag or something.”
I wondered if she actually thought the doll would somehow protect me, or if it was just a gesture. Somewhere in her voice was glint of seriousness, like it was going to save my life or something. Maybe humans were superstitious? I’d have to ask about that later.
“If it makes you feel better.”
“It does. Now say sorry for leaving him on your shelf.”
I looked up at Arlene. “I’m not gonna do that.”
“Come on, you left him all on his lonesome.” She made some weird expression that was supposed to elicit pity, raising her eyebrows and lowering her lips.
I sighed. “I’m sorry for leaving you on my shelf…”
“Say his name.”
A bloom spread across my face. “Ugh… Alexander.”
“His full name.”
I glared at Arlene. “I’m gonna get you back for this.”
“Sure, sure.” She cooed.
“The brave and respectable Alexander of Sunbrook.” I could feel my brain shriveling up as the words left my mouth.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“What just happened does not leave this room.”
“Whatever you say, big man.” She shrugged, stifling a laugh.
I stuffed the doll into my bag, now discovering that my appetite was back, and that I still hadn’t eaten a single thing this paw. My stomach made a noise that was akin to a shadestalker growling at cornered prey. The fruit in my bag, though bruised, was looking very tasty.
Speaking of food.
“Arlene?” I grabbed the fruits out of my bag. “I was meaning to ask you something.”
“Oh yeah?” She was sitting on the couch now.
“I sort of agreed to have a meal with this guy and his exchange partner. I wanted to know if you could come along.”
“Hold on, you agreed to this before you realized I wasn’t trying to eat you?”
My face turned orange again. “W-well, yeah. I was sort of pressured into it.” I fidgeted with my claws. “I was sort of hoping that you would end up fighting each other if he tried anything.”
“Pffft!” She burst out laughing.
“I-I’m sorry… I know it’s stupid.”
She strained to stop. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just, that’s pretty ridiculous.”
“Yeah…”
“So, what’s this guy’s name?”
“The venlil’s is Gram, and the human’s is Tommy.”
“Sure, I’ll come along. Just give me a little more of a heads up this time so I can actually get ready.”
“Thank you! I was worried you wouldn’t want to go with me.”
“Of course I do. Who else will protect you from the vile predator?”
“It’s not like that anymore!”
“Meba, I’m just teasing you.”
“O-oh.”
“I’ll stop if you want.”
“No, it’s… I don’t know. I don’t want you to feel like you have to act differently around me.”
She smiled, eyes narrowing, in a full face scrunch. “I’m glad we met.”
Through the fear, I felt the same. “Me too.”
I sat down on the couch next to her, and started eating my food.
“You know, I’ve been wondering. Why are you so much fluffier than the other venlil?”
“Huh?”
“I’ve seen hundreds of different venlil by now, but none of them are really as woolly as you. Lots of them don’t really have wool at all, just normal fur. Also your coat is way darker than others.”
“Oh. It’s because my family was from the night.”
“The night? Oh, duh. I always forget those are places for you. So it’s like an environmental thing?”
“Sort of. My ancestors lived in the night, so we have thicker coats, and darker fur for camouflage. The living conditions while you’re growing up are also a factor, but it’s mostly genes. Day-side venlil usually have more sandy colored coats, and thinner, slicker fur. Those are just extremes though, there’s all sorts of variations in the green.”
“That’s awesome.”
I shrugged. “I guess. I’ve never given it much thought before. Is my wool really that noticeable?”
“I don’t know about venlil, but to me you stick out like a sore thumb. Your fluff is unmatched. To be honest, it’s hard not to touch it.”
“You have to stop yourself from touching me?”
Her face flushed a pinkish color. “Um, it’s complicated. Er, no it’s not, but I don’t know how to explain it.” She scratched at the back of her head. “When we see cute things, it activates our protective instincts.”
I almost spit out my food. “Protective instincts?”
“Yeah, it makes me want to baby you. Our brains release dopamine when we interact with things we find cute.”
“And this urge is so great that you have trouble keeping it in check?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. It’s not hard to ignore, but I do want to pet you.”
“Pet?” I finished my food.
“I did it on the ride back here, but you didn’t like it, so I won’t do it anymore.”
A thought crossed my mind. “If I let you pet me, would this urge be satisfied?”
She knitted her brow. “You don’t have to. I know it makes you uncomfortable.”
“You just startled me last time. I don’t mind. After all, I’ve ‘pet’ you, right?”
“Fair enough.” She smiled.
Arlene raised a hand towards my head, and I flinched, though I was trying not to. She paused, then retracted her hand.
“Meba, it’s not a big deal. I don’t have to pet you.”
I grabbed her wrist. I wasn’t going to let my instincts get the better of me. “Yes you do.” I pulled her hand back towards my head.
She sighed. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”
“Nuh uh.” I replied.
Arlene rested her hand on the top of my head. “Yuh huh.” She started ruffling my fur, going back and forth, eventually moving her hand back behind my ears, and scratching me with her dull claws. She switched to the other ear, then moving slowly back up my scalp.
“W-whoa…” I stammered out, completely stunned by pleasant sensation.
“Feel good?” Arlene brought her other hand to my face, and grasped both my ears, gently massaging the areas around them, using just the right amount of force.
My brain drained itself of any latent fear chemicals, as I instinctually leaned into the contact. “Myeah.” The word came out almost slurred.
I closed my eyes, full of bliss. Arlene put a hand on my back, kneading around my shoulder blades, while the other found its way under my chin, scratching again with those dull nails that felt so nice. Stress that I didn’t even know I had was draining out of the myriad bottles it was stuffed in. Before I knew it, my bones were turning to slush, and my muscles were unraveling into piles of yarn. I started drooping, and soon splayed out on the couch.
Once I was laying down, she switched to long slow passes all the way from my crown of my head to my lower back, with fingers running through wool so gently you’d be forgiven for missing it.
This is to lower your guard, so she can eat you! Surely! Any second now… any second. Okay, maybe not. This is pretty nice actually.
In my chest, old gears strained to turn, fibers twitched, testing their give, and dusty muscles started rumbling, reverberating out from the trunk, to the ribs, bouncing off each bone, rattling the jelly that was now my skeleton, and escaping out of my chest, making a sound I hadn’t since before I moved to Sunbrook. I hadn’t felt this calm in so long.
She paused. “Oh my god, are you purring right now? Do venlil purr?”
I opened an eye, slightly annoyed that she stopped. “Some of us. It’s a genetic thing.”
Arlene’s jaw dropped, and for a second I thought it would continue falling all the way to the floor. “It is a good thing, right?”
“Yes.” My tail was betraying my impatience for more. “Can you continue?”
She continued with the same long strokes down my back. A lone tear rolled down her cheek. “I don’t deserve such bliss.”
“Mmm…” I wasn’t really listening.
“It’s like someone designed you to be the cutest living thing possible.”
I might have bloomed if I wasn’t basically unconscious by this point. I think my brain was next on the list of things to melt. Whatever I was thinking about before dissolved like salt stirred in warm water.
She continued for what felt like forever. Almost. Sadly, the experience wouldn’t last forever.
I looked up at her. “Why’d you stop?”
“My arms are tired.”
Dang.
“Dang.” I collected my resolve, and peeled myself off the couch, back to a sitting position. “Can all humans do that?”
“Yes.”
“Are humans magic?”
“Maybe a little.” She chuckled.
This isn’t so bad.
“So, you’re satisfied?”
“Yes, very.”
I kicked my legs against the couch, head empty.
What now?
“I’ve still got a bunch of time, since the bookstore is closed. Do you want to do something?”
“Oh, that reminds me. I was going to teach you how to crochet.” She stood up from the couch. “Let me pop over to my apartment real quick and grab some yarn.”
I grabbed her by the coat. “Wait, the exterminators might still be lurking.”
Her smile disappeared. “Really?”
“Maybe. Let me check the hallway.” I made my way to the door and, after undoing the locks, took a peak down both ends. The hallway was empty, with no signs of activity. “I think it’s safe.”
“Okay,” She slid past me. “be back in a jiffy.” She took one large step, and shoved her key into the lock, getting past the door just as fast.
And a few paws ago, I would have been the one calling the exterminators.
I shut the door, leaving it unlocked so she could get back in. A few moments later, the door opened with a soft click, followed by footsteps.
“Sorry that took so long. I didn’t remember where I put the hooks, so I had to dig through a bunch of drawers.” She held in her hands a ball of yarn, and a set of metal sticks.
“No worries. What are those for?”
“Crochet. It’s kinda like knitting.”
“What’s knitting?”
She smirked. “It’s kinda like crochet.”
“That’s not very helpful.”
“You’ll get it soon.” Arlene sat down on the couch, setting the yarn on the ground. “Do you know how to tie a slip knot?”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll show you.” She took the yarn in one hand, making a loop, giving it a half turn, then grabbing the standing end and pulling it through in another loop. “Like that. If you pull on the end,” Arlene pulled on the standing end, and the loop shrunk until it unraveled. “it comes undone. Give it a try.” She handed me the yarn.
“I’ll try.” I took the yarn in both hands, mimicking the loop, then grabbing the yarn and pulling it through, but the loop came undone as soon as I did so, a look of utter confusion growing on my face.
Arlene giggled. “You gotta grab the other line. It’s gotta cross over itself or there’s nothing to hold it in place.”
I bloomed a little, retrying and pulling the other side through so that it twisted up with itself, actually securing together. “I haven’t had to tie a knot in forever.”
She plucked the knot from my paws, slipping it out and undoing my work. “Good job. Do it again.”
I flicked my tail in annoyance. “But I just did it.”
“You need repetition so you’ll remember it.” She handed the yarn back.
I took it and tied the slip knot again, tightening it more than before. “There you go.”
“Thanks. Let me show you how this works. I’d tell you about the hook sizes, but I don’t think you guys use the metric system, so just know that different yarn thicknesses take different hook sizes, and the thickness of the hook determines the tightness of the stitch. This yarn is somewhere in the middle as far as weight goes.”
“You still haven’t told me what this actually is.”
“Have patience, young padawan.” Arlene grabbed one of the ‘crochet’ hooks, and stuck it through the knot, tightening it around the handle. “This is called a ‘yarn over hook’.” She twisted the hook around to grab the line, then twisting back and pulling it through the knot. There was another link in the yarn. “And this is called chaining. This is how wide your piece is going to be.”
Arlene repeated the movement, now much faster than before, chaining together 10ish loops. She had obviously done this many times before, if speed was any indication. I leaned in to get a better look.
“Now I’m gonna do what’s called a ‘singe crochet’.” She pushed the empty hook through the chain, grabbing more yarn and pulling it through. “Now you can see that there’s an extra loop here. We’re gonna yarn over hook again, and pull it through both.” She did exactly that, creating a little protrusion perpendicular to the chain. “And that is a single crochet. There’s a bunch of other stitches, but this is the most important one. To complete it, we just repeat the single crochet all the way down our foundation chain.” She repeated the motion, in a dizzying blur of twists and turns that I could barely follow. “At the end, we do another chain to turn around, and flip our work. Like so.” She did the little chain, and showed me the little rectangle of woven fabric. “Then you repeat, until it’s as long as you want.”
I wasn’t really following. “So this ‘crochet’ makes rectangles of fabric?”
“Well yes, but that’s a gross oversimplification. You can make anything: scarfs, blankets, hats, socks, sweaters, and even stuffed animals, but that requires more complicated hook work.”
“It looks hard.”
“Don’t worry, it gets easy once you know the stitch patterns. Plus, you have me to help you.” She puffed out her chest in an exaggerated gesture.
“If you say so.”
Arlene pulled on the end of the yarn, unraveling the whole sheet into nothing in a matter of seconds. “If you think it’s too difficult we could do finger knitting instead.”
“No, I think I can do this.”
“That’s the spirit.” She smiled, slapping me on the back a little too hard.
The hooks on the table were all different sizes. Unsure which to pick, I chose the one closest to the size Arlene was using.
“I’d recommend one a little thicker, at least if you plan to wear anything you make. It’ll make it more breathable.”
“We don’t really wear much.”
“I can see that.” She chuckled. “But think of how cute you’d look in a scarf, or a shawl.”
“I don’t know what either of those are.”
“Just grab a larger one.”
“Okay.” I chose another that looked to be 2 or 3 sizes larger. The metal felt cool against my paw pads.
“Go ahead and start. I’ll tell you if you’re messing anything up.”
I tied the slip knot, and tightened it around the hook. Then twisting to grab the yarn and pull it through. The hook felt awkward in my paws, like using a mouse in the wrong hand. Arlene was watching me closely, with a gaze almost as intense as when she was yelling. A shiver ran down my spine.
“Okay that’s probably long enough. Try a single crochet.”
I pushed the hook through, but before I could continue, Arlene stopped me.
“Stop real quick. I forgot to say that you need to skip the first hole when you start a row.” She pointed to the next one in the chain. “You should have gone through there.”
“Oh.” I pulled out the hook, and went through the next hole, doing a yarn over and creating a loop. “Is that good?”
“Yep. Now pull the yarn through both loops.”
I followed her instructions, and finished my first ever single crochet.
“Great job! Now you just need to do that all the way to the end of the chain.”
This is going to take forever if I want to make anything substantial.
“Do all your weaving techniques take this long?” I had to look closely at the weave to find the right holes, still putting conscious effort into the yarn overs.
“Pretty much. After you get good enough to do it without looking you can watch a movie while you do it. I used to crochet on the bus to school when I was little. I think it would be a good thing for you.”
“What do you mean?”
She blinked. “I don’t mean to me rude, but you seem like a really anxious person.”
“I-I thought you said I was brave?”
“You can be brave and anxious at the same time.” She paused. “What I mean to say, is that you could use something to help calm you down.”
“Why do you say that?”
She frowned. “The panic attack.”
Not again.
The desire to run bubbled up from my gut like bile. “I d-don’t know what you mean.”
Once again, drills in my skull, poking holes into my head. “Has this happened before?”
Why does it always come down to this?
I paused my work to look at her. “None of your business.”
She frowned. “I’m not trying to put you on the spot. I just want to help.”
“I’m fine.” I continued crocheting. “Don’t worry.”
“Whatever it is you’re going through, you don’t have to face it alone.”
“There’s nothing to face. Let’s talk about something else.” The words left a metallic taste in my mouth.
My crochet rectangle sheet thingy was about the size of my paw now. The hook was starting to move easier. The ceiling fan whirred above us, and the sun crept along the floor at imperceptible speeds, phantasmal shapes rotating through the same wobbles, over and over again.
Arlene laid back against the couch, stretching her legs. “Well, I’m gonna go see if I can get a datapad from the refugee center soon. I need to get in touch with my family, and I wouldn’t mind being able to use the internet either.”
“That’s nice. Then we can communicate from across town.”
“Yeah.” She yawned. “It’s been a while since I’ve talked to any humans. Not that you aren’t good company but… you know.”
“I wasn’t very talkative before this paw.”
“You aren’t much more talkative now.”
“That just means I’m a better listener.”
Arlene let out a bellowing laugh. “Fair enough. You know, I used to say that in middle school.”
“You weren’t always this… social?”
“No, I used to be a total wallflower. I didn’t have any friends. I would just sit in the back of class and doodle in my notebook.”
“What happened?”
“Well, it’s not a happy story, but I’ll tell you if you want.”
My curiosity was peaked. “Please.”
“Well, I was twelve years old, and it was the week before summer break. That’s the quarter of the year where there’s no school, by the way, and also the hottest time of the year.” She took a deep breath.
My single crochets were going faster now, and the hook was beginning to sit comfortably in my paw.
She exhaled. “I was super excited for the break, ‘cause my family was planning a trip to lake superior, which is the largest lake in the world. It’s really beautiful. There’s a bunch of nature trails, parks, stuff like that. Not to mention the swimming. The whole family was going to come along, including grandma.” Arlene swallowed. “It was one day before the break started when she died.”
I said nothing.
“It wasn’t painful. She died in her sleep, from natural causes. You know, old people stuff. I had never seen a corpse before.”
What?
“I was the one who found her. She was laying in bed. People often say the dead look peaceful. She didn’t. They don’t. They just stink.” She paused. “My grandma taught me everything I know about this sort of thing. We would sit by the window, knitting, crocheting, felting, whatever, for hours, just talking. She would ask me about school, I would say I didn’t like it, she would tell me to try talking to people, and then I would say she’s the only friend I need. Her eyes were always so full of pride when I said that. But it wasn’t just pride. I think she knew she didn’t have much time left. She had been pressuring me to interact with other kids more and more up until the break.” She chuckled “Sorry if I’m rambling.”
“I don’t mind.”
She half-smiled at me. “I had made a scarf for her. It was my magnum opus. I knitted it out of yarn that I spun myself, using a super pretty stitch, and I even went through the trouble of knitting a picture into it. I was so mad when she died. Not much sense in being angry at the dead, but yeah. I was angry that I wouldn’t get a chance to give her the scarf. The trip was canceled, and with the intended recipient gone, I didn’t have anyone to give the scarf to. My parents were taking it just as hard as me, maybe harder, but I made it even worse. I started skipping school, even ran away from home once.”
I glanced over to her face. Her eyes were watering.
“Sorry, this was over a decade ago, I should be over it by now.” She sniffled. “There’s this forest close to town, with a bunch of hills and stuff. It was late June, but it was a really cold summer, somewhere in the forties or fifties. Windy too. I took a sleeping bag and a bunch of supplies, and started hiking. I tried stay close to town, so I wouldn’t get lost. After four or so hours of walking, I heard crying. It was a miracle really. Like finding a needle in a haystack. There was a kid curled up against a tree, wailing like an air raid siren.”
The rectangle was almost as long as my forearm now.
“I recognized him from my history class. He was the class clown type, always getting up in your face, making jokes. I never saw him so sad before.” She rested her chin on her hands. “He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. Not enough insulation. I eventually approached him, and asked him why he was out in the forest.” She frowned. “His dad was a drunk, and he’d been beating him, so he ran away.”
I gasped. “Oh stars…”
“We talked for a while, with him shivering the whole time. I told him about my grandma, and he told me about his dad. We both ended up crying a bunch. I didn’t bring another pair of clothes, because I was a stupid twelve year old that didn’t know how to camp on my own, so I couldn’t give him anything to keep him warm. The only things I had were the sleeping bag and the scarf. I didn’t want to give him the scarf, but I did. I don’t know why, I just… he looked so small. I was out here going all scorched earth, and he was in hell everyday, still making jokes at school.” She paused.
“Anyway, I gave him the scarf, and my sleeping bag, so he wouldn’t freeze, and we shared some of the food I brought. I eventually had to go back home since I was now without a sleeping bag. Once school started again, he wore that scarf every single day, even when it was hot out, and he would go around telling people how awesome I was for making it.” She smiled. “He always acted happy around me, even though I could see the bruises his dad kept giving him. I couldn’t bring myself to be angry anymore when he was trying so hard to be happy for me.”
“One day, he came to school without the scarf. He wouldn’t even look at me. When I asked him what was wrong, he burst out into tears saying his dad burned the scarf, ans how sorry he was for losing it. It crushed me. I put days of work into that scarf, and it was gone just like that. Just like grandma. But instead of telling him that, I said it wasn’t a big deal, and that I’d make him another one.” She stopped.
“What happened then?”
“Well, I made another scarf, but I never got the chance to give it to him. His dad died, probably from alcohol poisoning or something, and he moved in with family down in Georgia. I never saw him again. For all I know, he’s dead from the bombings, or from something before that. So I was without someone to give the scarf to. Again.”
I gave her a worried look.
She laughed. “I don’t know why, but that brought me out of my shell. I started talking to people. I gave some other kid the scarf that was meant for him. Then everybody knew me as the scarf girl, so I started making more and more of them for everyone in my class.”
“What then?” The sheet was getting substantial now.
“Well, that’s the end of the story. I started joining clubs, bouncing around friend groups, that sort of thing. Just normal kid stuff. High school was the same. Everybody knew me as the person that gave out handmade scarfs for free, so I was well liked. I graduated, got a job, time passed, and all this crazy shit with first contact happened, and so here we are.” She yawned again. “Do you have any childhood stories?”
“Err, well… not really.” I lied.
“Nothing? No funny stories? No teenage mischief? It doesn’t have to be dramatic like mine.”
And here you are, reserved again. Were you lying when you called her your friend?
“Well, one time I led my class into an abandoned house.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, a test of courage type thing. I pressured eight of my classmates into joining me there at night.”
“Night?”
“I grew up on a colony world, so we had a day-night cycle.”
“Uh huh.”
I paused for a while to think of how to tell the story. Arlene was right when she said crochet was calming. It was very meditative. Through, hook, back, hook, back two, repeat. Through, hook, back, hook, back two, repeat.
“So there was this old building on a hill, out past the fields. It was all run down, with stains on the walls, and broken windows, sheet wood covering all the openings. Everybody at school thought it was haunted, or worse, infested by predators.”
Arlene rolled her eyes. “Very scary.” She picked up a crochet hook and started spinning it between her fingers.
I shrugged. “That’s just how it was.”
“I fail to see how an animal is scarier than a vengeful spirit, but I’ll humor you.”
“Well, I thought it was just a normal house, so I brought my classmates there, and we started exploring the thing. We had to squeeze past a panel of wood covering where the door would be to get in. I spearheaded the expedition, with the rest of them following behind me.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“It was scary, but I wanted to know what was inside the place. I broke us up into teams of two, and we split up to explore. I went with this gojid girl who’s name I forget, and we went straight up to the attic, while the rest of them checked the ground floor.”
“Ah, quite the lady’s man.” She nudged me in the shoulder, and I had to redo a crochet because of it.
Blood rushed to my face. “I-it wasn’t like that.”
“Sure, sure.” She smirked.
I huffed. “We climbed up this dusty old fold out ladder, which opened up into this crawlspace. I barely fit inside, and I had to exhale to move around.”
“That’s a weird ass attic.”
When the air doesn’t come, and the walls close in, will you be able to escape again?
“Y-yeah. I found a dusty old box of junk up there, but I got stuck. My classmate had to pull me out by my legs.” I shuddered at the thought.
“Jeez. What was in the box?”
“Nothing crazy. Just a bunch of rusty fasteners. It was probably left by the construction workers who built the house. But the next day, one of the people I brought told a teacher, and I got punished. My parents were super angry.”
“Wow. So you were a pretty crazy kid, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess. I was sort of the leader of my herd.”
For a while.
“Really?” She leaned forward.
“Yep.”
“Wow. So when did you move to Sunbrook?”
Don’t think about it.
“A while ago. Two or so of your years, I think.”
“Are your parents here too?”
I looked to my paws, focusing on the yarn. “They’re uh… not around.”
“Oh shit, I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
Do you really mean that?
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
I don’t know.
“No.” I barely managed to squeak.
“Okay.”
I continued crocheting.
Arlene yawned for the third time. “Crap. Sorry Meba, I think we’re gonna have to cut this short. I need to get some sleep.” She scooped up the hooks from the table.
“Um, can we do this again next paw?”
“Sure. We can finish off that scarf of yours tomorrow.” She grinned.
Human teeth weren’t very pointy.

”A bishop was sailing from Arkhangelsk to the Solovetsky Monastery, and on the same vessel were a number of pilgrims on their way to visit the shrines at that place. The voyage was a smooth one. The wind favorable, and the weather fair. The pilgrims lay on deck, eating, or sat in groups talking to one another. The bishop, too, came on deck, and as he was pacing up and down, he noticed a group of men standing near the prow and listening to a fisherman who was pointing to the sea and telling them something. The bishop stopped, and looked in the direction in which the man was pointing. He could see nothing however, but the sea glistening in the sunshine. He drew nearer to listen, but when the man saw him, he took off his cap and was silent. The rest of the people also took off their caps, and bowed. “Do not let me disturb you, friends,” said the bishop. “I came to hear what this good man was saying.”
“The fisherman was telling us about the hermits,” replied one, a tradesman, rather bolder than the rest.
“What hermits?” asked the bishop, going to the side of the vessel and seating himself on a box. “Tell me about them. I should like to hear. What were you pointing at?”
“Why, that little island you can just see over there,” answered the man, pointing to a spot ahead and a little to the right. “That is the island where the hermits live for the salvation of their souls.”
“Where is the island?” asked the bishop. “I see nothing.”
“There, in the distance, if you will please look along my hand. Do you see that little cloud? Below it and a bit to the left, there is just a faint streak. That is the island.”
The bishop looked carefully, but his unaccustomed eyes could make out nothing but the water shimmering in the sun.
“I cannot see it,” he said. “But who are the hermits that live there?”
“They are holy men,” answered the fisherman. “I had long heard tell of them, but never chanced to see them myself till the year before last.”
And the fisherman related how once, when he was out fishing, he had been stranded at night upon that island, not knowing where he was. In the morning, as he wandered about the island, he came across an earth hut, and met an old man standing near it. Presently two others came out, and after having fed him, and dried his things, they helped him mend his boat.
“And what are they like?” asked the bishop.
“One is a small man and his back is bent. He wears a priest’s cassock and is very old; he must be more than a hundred, I should say. He is so old that the white of his beard is taking a greenish tinge, but he is always smiling, and his face is as bright as an angel’s from heaven. The second is taller, but he also is very old. He wears a tattered peasant coat. His beard is broad, and of a yellowish grey color. He is a strong man. Before I had time to help him, he turned my boat over as if it were only a pail. He, too, is kindly and cheerful. The third is tall, and has a beard as white as snow and reaching to his knees. He is stern, with over-hanging eyebrows; and he wears nothing but a mat tied round his waist.”
painting of three old hermits walking by a river Mikhail Nesterov, Hermit fathers and immaculate women (detail), 1932
“And did they speak to you?” asked the bishop. “For the most part they did everything in silence and spoke but little even to one another. One of them would just give a glance, and the others would understand him. I asked the tallest whether they had lived there long. He frowned, and muttered something as if he were angry; but the oldest one took his hand and smiled, and then the tall one was quiet. The oldest one only said: ‘Have mercy upon us,’ and smiled.”
While the fisherman was talking, the ship had drawn nearer to the island.
“There, now you can see it plainly, if your Grace will please to look,” said the tradesman, pointing with his hand.
The bishop looked, and now he really saw a dark streak – the island. Having looked at it a while, he left the prow of the vessel, and going to the stern, asked the helmsman:
“What island is that?”
“That one,” replied the man, “has no name. There are many such in this sea.”
“Is it true that there are hermits who live there for the salvation of their souls?”
“So it is said, your Grace, but I don’t know if it’s true. Fishermen say they have seen them; but of course they may only be spinning yarns.”
“I should like to land on the island and see these men,” said the bishop. “How could I manage it?”
“The ship cannot get close to the island,” replied the helmsman, “but you might be rowed there in a boat. You had better speak to the captain.”
The captain was sent for and came.
“I should like to see these hermits,” said the bishop. “Could I not be rowed ashore?”
The captain tried to dissuade him.
“Of course it could be done,” said he, “but we should lose much time. And if I might venture to say so to your Grace, the old men are not worth your pains. I have heard say that they are foolish old fellows, who understand nothing, and never speak a word, any more than the fish in the sea.”
“I wish to see them,” said the bishop, “and I will pay you for your trouble and loss of time. Please let me have a boat.”
There was no help for it; so the order was given. The sailors trimmed the sails, the steersman put up the helm, and the ship’s course was set for the island. A chair was placed at the prow for the bishop, and he sat there, looking ahead. The passengers all collected at the prow, and gazed at the island. Those who had the sharpest eyes could presently make out the rocks on it, and then a mud hut was seen. At last one man saw the hermits themselves. The captain brought a telescope and, after looking through it, handed it to the bishop.
“It’s right enough. There are three men standing on the shore. There, a little to the right of that big rock.”
The bishop took the telescope, got it into position, and he saw the three men: a tall one, a shorter one, and one very small and bent, standing on the shore and holding each other by the hand.
The captain turned to the bishop.
“The vessel can get no nearer in than this, your Grace. If you wish to go ashore, we must ask you to go in the boat, while we anchor here.”
The cable was quickly let out, the anchor cast, and the sails furled. There was a jerk, and the vessel shook. Then, a boat having been lowered, the oarsmen jumped in, and the bishop descended the ladder and took his seat. The men pulled at their oars, and the boat moved rapidly towards the island. When they came within a stone’s throw they saw three old men: a tall one with only a mat tied round his waist: a shorter one in a tattered peasant coat, and a very old one bent with age and wearing an old cassock – all three standing hand in hand.
The oarsmen pulled in to the shore, and held on with the boathook while the bishop got out.
All day long the bishop labored, saying a word twenty, thirty, a hundred times over, and the old men repeated it after him.
The old men bowed to him, and he gave them his benediction, at which they bowed still lower. Then the bishop began to speak to them.
“I have heard,” he said, “that you, godly men, live here saving your own souls, and praying to our Lord Christ for your fellow men. I, an unworthy servant of Christ, am called by God’s mercy to keep and teach his flock. I wished to see you, servants of God, and to do what I can to teach you, also.”
The old men looked at each other smiling, but remained silent.
“Tell me,” said the bishop, “what you are doing to save your souls, and how you serve God on this island.”
The second hermit sighed, and looked at the oldest, the very ancient one. The latter smiled, and said:
“We do not know how to serve God. We only serve and support ourselves, servant of God.”
“But how do you pray to God?” asked the bishop.
“We pray in this way,” replied the hermit. “Three are ye, three are we, have mercy upon us.”
And when the old man said this, all three raised their eyes to heaven, and repeated:
“Three are ye, three are we, have mercy upon us!”
The bishop smiled.
“You have evidently heard something about the Holy Trinity,” said he. “But you do not pray aright. You have won my affection, godly men. I see you wish to please the Lord, but you do not know how to serve him. That is not the way to pray; but listen to me, and I will teach you. I will teach you, not a way of my own, but the way in which God in the Holy Scriptures has commanded all people to pray to him.”
And the bishop began explaining to the hermits how God had revealed himself to humankind; telling them of God the Father, and God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost.
“God the Son came down on earth,” said he, “to save humankind, and this is how he taught us all to pray. Listen and repeat after me: ‘Our Father.’”
And the first old man repeated after him, “Our Father,” and the second said, “Our Father,” and the third said, “Our Father.”
“Which art in heaven,” continued the bishop.
The first hermit repeated, “Which art in heaven,” but the second blundered over the words, and the tall hermit could not say them properly. His hair had grown over his mouth so that he could not speak plainly. The very old hermit, having no teeth, also mumbled indistinctly.
The bishop repeated the words again, and the old men repeated them after him. The bishop sat down on a stone, and the old men stood before him, watching his mouth, and repeating the words as he uttered them. And all day long the bishop labored, saying a word twenty, thirty, a hundred times over, and the old men repeated it after him. They blundered, and he corrected them, and made them begin again.
The bishop did not leave off till he had taught them the whole of the Lord’s Prayer so that they could not only repeat it after him, but could say it by themselves. The middle one was the first to know it, and to repeat the whole of it alone. The bishop made him say it again and again, and at last the others could say it too.
It was getting dark, and the moon was appearing over the water, before the bishop rose to return to the vessel. When he took leave of the old men, they all bowed down to the ground before him. He raised them, and kissed each of them, telling them to pray as he had taught them. Then he got into the boat and returned to the ship.
And as he sat in the boat and was rowed to the ship he could hear the three voices of the hermits loudly repeating the Lord’s Prayer. As the boat drew near the vessel their voices could no longer be heard, but they could still be seen in the moonlight, standing as he had left them on the shore, the shortest in the middle, the tallest on the right, the middle one on the left. As soon as the bishop had reached the vessel and got on board, the anchor was weighed and the sails unfurled. The wind filled them, and the ship sailed away, and the bishop took a seat in the stern and watched the island they had left. For a time he could still see the hermits, but presently they disappeared from sight, though the island was still visible. At last it too vanished, and only the sea was to be seen, rippling in the moonlight.
The pilgrims lay down to sleep, and all was quiet on deck. The bishop did not wish to sleep, but sat alone at the stern, gazing at the sea where the island was no longer visible, and thinking of the good old men. He thought how pleased they had been to learn the Lord’s Prayer; and he thanked God for having sent him to teach and help such godly men.
So the bishop sat thinking, and gazing at the sea where the island had disappeared. And the moonlight flickered before his eyes, sparkling, now here, now there, upon the waves. Suddenly he saw something white and shining, on the bright path which the moon cast across the sea. Was it a seagull, or the little gleaming sail of some small boat? The bishop fixed his eyes on it, wondering.
“It must be a boat sailing after us,” thought he, “but it is overtaking us very rapidly. It was far, far away a minute ago, but now it is much nearer. It cannot be a boat, for I can see no sail; but whatever it may be, it is following us, and catching us up.”
And he could not make out what it was. Not a boat, nor a bird, nor a fish! It was too large for a man, and besides a man could not be out there in the midst of the sea. The bishop rose, and said to the helmsman:
“Look there, what is that, my friend? What is it?” the bishop repeated, though he could now see plainly what it was – the three hermits running upon the water, all gleaming white, their grey beards shining, and approaching the ship as quickly as though it were not moving.
The steersman looked and let go the helm in terror.
“Oh Lord! The hermits are running after us on the water as though it were dry land!”
The passengers, hearing him, jumped up, and crowded to the stern. They saw the hermits coming along hand in hand, and the two outer ones beckoning the ship to stop. All three were gliding along upon the water without moving their feet. Before the ship could be stopped, the hermits had reached it, and raising their heads, all three as with one voice, began to say:
“We have forgotten your teaching, servant of God. As long as we kept repeating it we remembered, but when we stopped saying it for a time, a word dropped out, and now it has all gone to pieces. We can remember nothing of it. Teach us again.”
The bishop crossed himself, and leaning over the ship’s side, said:
“Your own prayer will reach the Lord, men of God. It is not for me to teach you. Pray for us sinners.”
And the bishop bowed low before the old men; and they turned and went back across the sea. And a light shone until daybreak on the spot where they were lost to sight.”
— Leo Tolstoy

I'm currently knitting myself a skirt and I want to add intentional ladder the bottom to sort of look like a side slit. Does anyone know of a way to prevent the ladder going all the way other than just catching the loop and tying it with scrap yarn? Could I do something while Im knitting at the point I would want the ladder to go to? Thanks for any help

I’ve laddered and fixed lots’o mistakes, in lace too, and I can’t see how I managed to drop a stitch in such a way as to leave the running thread loop of the subsequent row properly in place. I guess I might use a scrap of yarn in the right color to duplicate stitch this back to security. . . But can anybody solve the mystery of how this happened? Pix in comments

Do you still remember that tower? That white tower?
"Of course." You say it, and I say it too. Although that was a long time ago; although we have grown into adults now.
Back then, our Peach Blossom Valley was still hidden in the mountains, with only a winding mountain road leading to the outside world. What was outside, we didn't know. Adults didn't take us there. We didn't dare to stand by the road like adults, waving to make passing cars stop for us. We often stood by the road, gazing into the distance, looking towards the end of the road, the end of the mountains, and that vast, hazy, gray-blue sky.
I don't know from when, behind the layers of turquoise mountains, a white structure appeared vaguely, standing tall like a tower.
What exactly is that? We asked the adults who had driven cars. Perhaps they knew what that might be as it came from the same direction the cars were coming by.
“There are new things all over the world, who cares about that?” Someone said.
“Maybe you guys are just dazzled? I've been watching all the way, not daring to blink my eyes.” Someone else said.
In any case, the adults couldn't figure out what that white structure was.
As the setting sun peeked out half of its face from behind the mountain ridges, reluctant to leave, it looked back at the distant shadow of the white tower for the last time, then disappeared behind the undulating mountains. Only that white tower-like shadow still conspicuously floated in a deep purple twilight, looking from afar like a lone sail in the sea.
If only we could fly over these layers of mountains and go to the white tower to see it with our own eyes, that would be so wonderful! So, we bravely stood by the road, imitating the adults, waving when we saw a car coming from afar. However, the passing cars seemed to be blind; they just drove straight past, splashed us with yellow dust on our faces.
Finally, as a truck rumbled up the slope of the hill, and without waiting for us to wave, it stopped on its own.
We were all surprised.
The door opened, and a bearded man jumped out. “Damn, this old car!” he grumbled, opening the hood of the car.
Only then did we realize that this car didn't stop for us, but we still approached with hope. After the man was done fixing the car and wiping his hands with cotton yarn, I mustered up the courage to speak, “sir, can you give us a ride?”
The bearded man turned around, impatiently asking, “give you a ride? Where to?”
“To see the white tower!”
“White tower? What the hell is a white tower? Go away, get off to the side!” He waved his strong fist towards us, got into the car, and drove away in a hurry.
It seemed like asking for a ride was out of the question. We decided to hitchhike a ride by holding onto the back of the car. This was an uphill road, and the cars here always moved as slowly as an old ox pulling a cart. As long as we were brave enough, we could surely climb up.
But this plan didn't go smoothly from the very beginning. Either the cars were too fast, or the bumpers were too high. I got a big bump on my head from one, and we barely avoided the adults from discovering our secret.
Later, we would squat by the roadside every day, waiting for an opportunity. In just a few days, we noticed a truck among the passing cars that was moving exceptionally slow, almost gasping for breath when going uphill. Perhaps it was too old; the paint on the car had lost its shine. What's more, it didn't have a rear bumper, just a horizontal iron chain, and unbelievably, there was even a section of a foot ladder. It seemed like it was arranged specifically for our secret mission.
The next day, we arrived early on the hillside. Car after car passed by, but none of them was that truck. After a long wait, with the sun right in the middle of the sky, the truck finally appeared at the turning point.
We hid in the bushes by the road, watching the truck as it gasped for breath just past us. We darted out, using both hands and feet, feeling nervous for a while, but finally, we climbed aboard. We were so happy! The dream of seeing the white tower was finally about to come true!
Suddenly, we felt something was wrong—the truck stopped. Before we could react, a man came to the back of the truck, lifted us up like chicks, and threw us into the roadside bushes.
"Try hitchhiking again, and I'll crush you next time!" The person was none other than the bearded man. He stuck his head out of the car window and roared like thunder, then drove away.
This old f**k. Fuming with anger, we chased after his car chanting, “make it overturn, make it overturn! Flip all those four wheels in the air!”
We cursed him, but it still didn't feel like enough to vent out our frustration, so we vowed to thoroughly mess up his old car next time!
From then on, whenever we had the chance, we would stroll by the roadside. It seemed like the bearded man saw through us, as every time he approached this stretch of road, he would speed up, leaving us helplessly watching as the car kicked up a cloud of dust and disappeared into the distance. Once, he almost collided with us near the bend. After stopping the car, he stuck his head out and scolded, “you little rascals, get lost!”
“Make it overturn, make it overturn! Flip all those four wheels in the air!” We chanted at his car as we chased after it.
We couldn't bear it anymore! We prepared a bunch of mud and rocks and planned to give him a taste of our vengeance.
Unfortunately, for several days, we couldn't find a trace of the bearded man. It seemed like he had figured out our plot and discreetly disappeared.
A few days later, one morning when the dew on the road hadn't dried yet, the bearded man's car finally appeared at the end of the slope. Unexpectedly, the car stopped, and a young man jumped out. He went into the bushes, making them rustle, and after a while, he returned back to the road. Smiling, he called out to us who were standing dumbfounded on the side.
“Yo, what are you guys up to?”
We looked at each other, then glanced at the young man's car behind him. It was indeed the bearded man's old car.
The young man turned around, looked at us with confusion, and suddenly understood. He said, “oh, you guys want a ride, right? That's easy, hop on!”
“Really?” We were overjoyed.
“Of course. Where to?” He squeezed us into the driver's seat and started the car.
“The white tower.” Seeing his puzzled expression, we pointed together at the distant white tower's silhouette and explained, “look! Over there, isn't that the white tower?”
The young man chuckled, “what white tower? You'll know when you get closer!”
The car started moving. The layers of mountains, for the first time, seemed to move spiritually in our eyes. The white tower began to move behind the wavy mountain ridges, appearing and disappearing slowly like floating white sails. After some time, it completely vanished, but we knew it was now closer to us.
At a crossroad, the car stopped. The young man said, “well, here we are, little fellows. Go check out your white tower!”
We hopped off the car with excitement and ran in the direction he pointed. Suddenly, we remembered something and ran back, all the way to the young man, and asked.
“Sir, the man with the big beard, he also drives this car, why isn't he driving it now?”
The smiling young man stopped smiling. He touched the steering wheel, looked into the distance, and asked in a low voice, “do you know him?”
“Yeah, he never lets us hitchhike; he's not as nice as you!”
The young man slowly rolled down the windshield, gazing into the distance, and said softly, “he's no longer here.”
“Where did he go?” We still didn't understand.
“He's just gone.”
Suddenly, we understood, and a chill ran down our spines. “How?”
“I'm not too sure. From what I heard, people say his car happened to pass by here, and another car's fuel tank caught on fire. See, right over there. If the tank had exploded, this entire area, including your white tower, would have been in jeopardy. So, he hopped inside that burning car and drove it away.” The young man said simply, but it was this simpleness that left us speechless.
“What happened afterward?”
“Afterward? It's not like telling a story. What else is there afterward?”
“So, that means he became a hero, didn't he?”
The young man said something, but none of us heard it because the engine started again. We were all struggling to process this fact we couldn't accept.
I don't know when the car drove away, and you don't know either.
We walked slowly along the side road. The road was paved with gravel, and deep tire tracks ran parallel and intersected on the road. Which two tracks were left by him? They must be the deepest ones.
Alas, why curse at all. We walked in silence for a while.
The trees on both sides became sparser. Then, yellow canvas tents appeared one after another. Before long, the white tower appeared in front of us without a warning. It turned out to be a giant metal frame covered with white canvas. Many people with strange hats were busy around it. It had peacefully remained because of someone's will to sacrifice.
What was it exactly?
It turned out to be the site of an oil field. Workers detect with their machinery and drilling rigs above when there's valuable resources underground.
The tower wasn't exactly white either. It had a lot of mud and oil stains on it. No pristine whiteness as we imagined, no mystique. It wasn't a tower either, let alone a white tower.
As we walked back step by step along the tire tracks; somehow, we always felt like something was watching us from behind.
Turning around, we saw it standing tall and solemn in the woods, against the rose-colored sky. It became a white tower again.
“It's the white tower,” you whispered.
“It's truly the white tower,” I whispered back.
It stood silently still in the mountains.
Well, that was a really, really long time ago. But we all still remember it.

Level -75893460 or level safer fun is a level classified as safe It's an infinite play place full of slides, tunnels, ladders, bridges, platforms , trampolines and much more kinda like level fun plus. It's bright and colorful it feels like you've been there before, like it's familiar and nostalgic you'll feel like a kid as you explore deeper and deeper into this level you'll find the second part of this level the canteen it's full of food and almond water and children's furniture little tables and chairs you'll also find level specific entities that are doll like they have yarn like hair and button eyes normally in brigtht kidcore like clothes there mouths dont move but they talk in weird slightly distorted but very soft voices they like to jump and play around but some of them actually work in the level specificly in the canteen.

Tomorrow will be my first day doing a witch ladder but I’m a closet witch and I’m trying to make sure how can I not make it “obvious” yk? I’m doing it first thing in the morning I only have black yarn. I do want to bring love into the new year for myself and to bring people into my life and I’m trying to find herbs for opportunities! Would appreciate tips!

This is the first time I've tried an afterthought heel. The pattern uses a scrap of waste yarn which us removed afterwards.
I carefully pulled the waste yarn out one stitch at a time and picked the live stitches up on my needles. On the one side (the original direction of the knit), I have the correct number of stitches: 29. On the opposing side, I have one less stitch. I have pulled, pushed, and tugged every way I can think of and can't find the missing stitch and no ladders are appearing. If I trace upwards in the pattern, it appears that the stitches I picked up are between the original stitches.
Help me Obi Wan Knitobi, you're my only hope!