To sew a fabric that was basically indestructible—something even a Dragon's claws couldn't rip—Hana had to do the impossible. In the wasteland, 'impossible' just meant a survivor hadn't yet used enough heat or pressure. Or rather, the right method.
The afternoon sun was still high, pouring a bright, harsh light into the mouth of the cave. It was perfect for the kind of delicate work Hana needed to do.
"Raiden, hold this end," Hana commanded. "Pull it tight. If it bunches up even a little, the needle won't find the gap, and I assure you, it'll find your skin instead."
Raiden knelt across from her, his nine pink tails tucked away from the soot of the soap-fire. He gripped the shimmering silver cloth, his green eyes wide with curiosity.
"It feels like cold water, Hana. How can a bone needle pierce something the Fire King couldn't even scratch?"
"By being smarter than a lizard," Hana muttered.
