Dairine awoke into fear, her hands were clenched, long shivers shook her body.  The dream which had driven her into consciousness abruptly faded, leaving only a sense of terror behind.  However, it had broken the spell of the weavers, her memory was once more sharp and clear.

How long had she been here?  What had happened when she had not returned to the shore?  Had the ship under Vidruth's control left, thinking her lost?  And Rothar?  the Captain?

Slowly she turned her head from side to side, aware of something else.  Though she could not see them, she knew that the looms ringing her in were vacant, the weavers were gone!

Now Dairine believed she must have been caught in some invisible web, and had only this moment broken free.  Why had she chosen to come here?  Why had she remained?  The ribband of stuff was gone from her wrist - had that set some ensorcelment upon her?

Fool!  She could not see as the rest of the world saw.  Now it appeared that even her carefully fostered sense of perception had, in some manner, deceived her.  As Dairine arose, her hand brushed the loom where she had labored for so long.  Curiosity made her stoop to finger the width her efforts had created.  Not quite as smooth as the ribband, but far, far better than her first attempt.

Only - where were the weavers?  The shadow of terror lingering from her dream sent her moving purposefully about the clearing.  Each loom was empty, the woven cloth gone.  She kicked against something - groped to find it.  A collecting rod for thread.

"Where - where are you?" she dared to call aloud.  The quiet seemed so menacing she longed to set her back to some tree, to raise a defense.  Against whom - or what?

Dairine did not believe that Vidruth and his men would dare to penetrate the wood.  But did the weavers have other enemies, and had fled those, not taking the trouble to warn her?

Breathing faster, she set hand on the hilt of the knife at her girdle.  Where were they?  Her call had echoed so oddly that she dared not try again: Only her fear grew as she tried to listen.

There was the rustle of tree leaves.  Nothing else.  Nor could she pick up by mind touch any suggestion of another life form nearby.  Should she believe that the cloth missing from each loom meant her co-workers had left for an ordered purpose, not in flight?  Would she be able to track them?

Never before had she put to such a use that sense Ingvarna had trained in her.  Also, that the weavers had their own guards Dairine was well aware.  She was not sure that she herself mattered enough in their eyes for them to set any defense against her seeking their company.  Suppose, with a collecting rod in her hand, she were to leave the loom place as if on the regular mission of hunting thread?