Re: [Lepus]
[There is the gentle sound of a shuttle moving through taut thread, and as the memory settles deep, your eyes open to the familiar garments of your kin on both yourself and those around you, dyed in that deceptively soft hue.
Outsiders whispered, sometimes, that all who gathered under the banner of the hare were pretenders to nobility. The people themselves knew the truth; theirs was the blood of those who could rule the world or bring it to its kneesābut who would bother? A single person could be more interesting than a nation combined, if they were just looked at right . . .
. . . but that was no reason to be clothed in rags. Not in a land rich in [spider] silk, not in one that bordered lands filled with the finest hands the sacred art knew. Thick brocades fashioned both the high, sleeveless tops favoured among boys, and the laced bodices found on so many of the girls; softer weaves encircled their necks, be it in the fine silk of a cravat, or the ruffled lace of a bolero. While short, layered skirts could give a far more delicate impression than knee-length shorts, both favoured freedom of movement often not realized by others until it was far, far too late.
Washes well too, that silk does.
There were always high stockings for cooler nights, and the soft, lined capes that covered the shoulders of one and all when the alley winds turned. And boots, laced high to the knee on girls, turned down at the ankle among boys, for the worst of the gutter sludge (. . . or for the grasses and stones of the city's small, hidden parks, but that was a well-kept secret no outsider need know).]