"Spoken like a true knitter," Millicent said before rather hesitantly taking over the wheel. She hadn't been kidding about the lack of coordination, but this time, when she'd had practiced the rhythm of just her foot it went a little easier.
It wasn't pretty yarn, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it was yarn. That she had spun. Or would spin.
Because one thing was for sure: She intended to come back. Do this again. Whether Flint liked it or not she was coming over to hog his wheel and make him sort out the mess when the wool got away from her.
Which would happen rather a lot, if those first ten minutes was anything to judge by.