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A cool breeze blasted Jack in the face. Shuddering, the young man shifted his merchandise to one hand and pulled his turtleneck up so it covered his chin. Better, but still cold. What was winter weather doing in autumn, anyway? His breath came out in short, wispy puffs as he strode toward the benches. “Come on, guy,” he murmured. “Show up already. Lemme go home.” The things he did for his clients. Funny thing was, though, he couldn’t pick his client out of the handful of people. The benches by the tracks were nearly empty. There were a couple of men and one lady, all waiting patiently for their train to arrive.

There once was a young weaver who worked day and night at his craft. He worked so hard, in fact, that fairy-folk and elves came from surrounding villages to see him. Butterfly-lace shirts, satin vests, and skirts made from the silvered manes of unicorns- he could take any material given him and turn it into sheets of fabric, and then again into delightful garments. At least, he liked to imagine that he could. You see, this talented, young weaver had an adventurous spirit. He never worked with the same material twice in a row, and never more than four times a month. It was too easy to get lazy that way. So, each evening, after he'd closed hi