#redriverdawn

"...Listen, just ‘cause I’m not a cob of corn doesn’t mean I don’t have ears.” 

”Will, you ain't got a chance in hell. I don't need Sae's pity. And Ed?" She lets out a sharp, downward trilling whistle followed by a short note. Down boy.

Harry had spent decades learning the fastest, dirtiest, most efficient way of papermaking. Let some cellulose rot, grind it up, and then dry out the mush into sheets. For decades she had made do with hastily made, shitty, bumpy paper because it was all she could afford to make do with.

So of course, she had sniffed down the person on the beach settlement that was going about making beautiful, smooth, white paper. As was in her nature, Harry had watched from afar, keeping tabs on the Papermaker's progress as she went about her day. Her pace was meditatively slow, but the results were undeniable. Even Harry had to admit that she was beat.

On a quiet day, while the Papermaker was seated and engaged in her tasks, Harry sat down next to her. She had her own ream of paper, all sorts of ugly browns and beiges and greens. Silently, without saying anything, Harry began to bind them together, taking a needle and thread to sew the pages together into a rudimentary book. Her own oblique way of showing interest, and her own knowledge of the subject.

"Got any orders?" Harry asked the Papermaker, engrossed with her work.