He Stole My Moon-Silk, Now I’m His / Chapter 3: Weaving for Survival
He Stole My Moon-Silk, Now I’m His

He Stole My Moon-Silk, Now I’m His

Author: Morgan Cooke

Chapter 3: Weaving for Survival

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The next morning, the sun was already high when I heard the iron lock rattle at the woodshed door.

Jake’s face showed up in the crack, a mess of anger and worry.

I shielded my eyes from the harsh sunlight, asking softly:

"What’s wrong?"

"A raccoon got in last night and killed all the chickens." He slapped the doorframe, cursing. "Damn it, didn’t you hear anything?"

His voice was sharp, but I heard the worry underneath. Those chickens mattered more to him than he’d admit. The loss stung—deep and personal.

I shook my head, trying to look small and harmless, and pointed at the floor:

"I was weaving most of the night, and I must’ve fallen asleep."

My voice came out quiet, almost apologetic. I curled up, hugging my knees, trying to look as harmless as a stray pup. I could feel his eyes on me, searching for a lie.

"You made all this?" Jake’s eyes bugged out.

The brocade shimmered with a faint pink glow, catching the sunlight—nothing ordinary about it.

He stepped closer, reaching out to touch the cloth, eyes wide as silver dollars:

"If we take this to town, we could sell it for a fortune!"

He ran his hands over the fabric, mouth open in awe. For a second, he forgot about the chickens, the raccoon, even the wedding robe. He was seeing dollar signs, sure as sunrise.

"Of course."

No sooner had I answered than shouts rang out from the yard:

"Jake! Jake! Old Bill’s wife is about to give birth!"

"Old Bill says if it’s a boy, he’ll give everyone a deviled egg to celebrate! You coming?"

The promise of free food got Jake’s attention fast. But as he stepped out, he paused, glancing back at me.

He looked me over for a long moment, hesitated, then said:

"You’re coming with me."

One more person, one more egg, I thought. With this crowd, there was no way I could run.

I finished his thought in silence.

Jake grabbed my wrist and hauled me out of the scrappy backyard.

The neighbors out front stared like they’d seen a ghost.

"Well, I’ll be—he really found himself a pretty wife!"

Jake’s eyes crinkled with pride as his greasy hand slid around my waist:

"That’s right—my wife can spin cloth. She’s moonborn—straight from the night sky!"

He puffed up, parading me like a prize at the county fair. The neighbors exchanged glances, envy and disbelief written all over their faces.

A neighbor swallowed hard:

"Well, let’s go. If we wait, there’ll be too many people to squeeze in."

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