---
The dome's skin was brown with tar, but the way the ropes bent showed strain. Someone below had pulled them tighter than they should. Someone afraid. She measured time by breaths and the small knots of muscle in her shoulders that told her she had held one shape long enough and must change to another or snap.
The second hour crawled. Silence became a weight. Skyweaver broke it, her voice thin as silk across Kai's ear.
"I see reed mats far east," she whispered. "I see a man with a grin who watches the sky as if it owes him a drink. I see a brown dome. I will not speak of who is under it. I will say only that the cage has four poles and the ropes are damp. I am two minutes above the clouds. Call and I fall. Until then I am only a cold wind no one can see."
"Stay cold," Kai said. "Stay high."
"I am air," Skyweaver said, and the line went light, as if even words were too heavy to carry further.
