A few days had bled past since their return from the Central Beast Market and the claiming in the hot springs.
For Roxy, it had been a blur of creative fever, her knowledge of textile design finding perfect expression in the looms the market had doubled on her.
For her mates, however, it had been a period of growing, agonizing trepidation. They knew the signs. The hushed seclusion, the sudden requests for specific arm measurements, the critical glances at their current wardrobes.
As if she were thinking of which ones to burn or ones to turn into rags.
They didn't want to part with them because Roxy made them for them. But they usually don't have a choice; she always has her way of getting things done her way.
And today, the period of deception had officially ended.
