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WHEN IZRAMITH arrived at the guesthouse, she remembered that of course she had no other shirt, since the second shirt Dashu had brought was too small and she was not to wear her Hedron gear. And she sure as hell wasn’t going back to remind Dashu of that fact.
She had in her bag in the guesthouse a sewing kit, but the only thread in the kit was dark purple. Even her neatest stitches contrasted horribly with the dainty yellow of the shirt, but, as she sat cross-legged in the middle of the room, she felt a calm vindication. If they didn’t want her to stand out, they should supply her with clothes that fitted.
If they wanted her to do a good job, they should supply her with the information to do so, and until they did that, she would write up her own parameters.
She finished sewing, tri
