:Now take that into your room, and we’ll get to work.:

Even more puzzled by now, Mags retreated to the warmth of his room. Dallen instructed him to sit down at his desk, and light the lamp he normally used for studying by. The loose bundle of hair rested beside his right hand; the hairs seemed to shimmer in the light.

:Now . . . I would like you to relax. And let me have your hands. Just—don’t think about anything, just concentrate on watching. All right? This is a bit like when I was keeping you calm, except that it is all physical.:

Now completely puzzled, all that Mags could do was to sit there and try not to think at all. And when his hands started to move all by themselves, he fought down a brief moment of panic, then suppressed the urge to make them stop, and just . . . watched.

Watched as those hands selected a neat little bunch of Dallen’s hairs, watched as they moved deftly and surely, swiftly turning those hairs into a braid, then turning the braid into a bracelet.

Only then did he realize what it was that Dallen was doing. Dallen had the skill to do this, but not the hands—obviously a Companion couldn’t finger-weave like this with hooves. He had the hands, but not the skill, although he was deft enough in weaving grasses. This was another skill entirely, and Dallen was a master of it. He watched in fascination as the intricate braid formed under his fingers.

When the bracelet was done, the hands set it aside, then started another braid. This one was much longer. One end terminated in a loop, the other in a fancy knot that was just big enough it couldn’t slip through the loop. :There are a lot of things Bear can use this for, but I think he will decide it should be a bookstrap. He was looking for one the other day,: Dallen explained, as Mags’ hands got to work on something new, this time a round braid, rather than a flat one, which also terminated in a knot and a loop. Then Mags’ hands made a second. :For Jakyr. Jesses for a hawk. He’s a falconer; he keeps a peregrine here in the Royal Mews. These are good jesses; if the bird should escape, he can pick them free of the bracelets and not get tangled in a tree.:

Mags blinked at the images he got from Dallen. Falconers carried birds of prey out into the woods and fields, set them free, and flushed game for them to take down. It was so strange to him that he could hardly encompass it. He had seen hawks in the sky, of course, but cooped up in the mine all day, he had never known what they did or ate, and never knew you could train them to hunt for you. It looked altogether exciting.