Zuri and Tembo and the Workshop

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Close your eyes and let the air lift you. Up where the clouds are sewn together by silver threads, there is a place called Lullaby Loom. Here, the night is not dark—it is woven. Every star is a stitch, every dream a soft knot, and the sky hums with the sound of needles clicking. You are not watching from below. You are the breeze that carries the stitches home.

You are Zuri, the youngest breeze of Lullaby Loom. Your fingers are made of mist, your voice a whisper of leaves. You drift between the great wooden looms where Tembo, the loom-keeper, weaves the night. His hands move like slow rivers, pulling silver thread through the dark cloth of sky. Beside him floats Mwale, a tiny cloud-puff with eyes like dewdrops. Mwale never speaks, but they hum when the room is calm.

Today, the looms are silent. No clicking. No silver thread moving. Tembo stands still, his wise face creased with thought. The sky-cloth hangs empty, waiting.

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