The weaver held his handcrafted basket close to his chest, mandibles clicking in disappointment as he surveyed the disarray of modern flasks and burettes scattered among the more traditional tools of an apothecary. "Have you gotten lost on your way to market, weaver?" a voice called out. Namrask turned calmly toward Eido's steely gaze. "You treat your tools with disrespect," he replied. "I am under a deadline. Perhaps you could critique my workspace another time," she retorted. "Velask, as I greet you in the Light," Namrask said, ignoring her barb. "I come with gifts. For you or… Slayer Baron." He held his finely woven basket, filled with dyes consisting of colorful extracts and powders, out for Eido to take. "From one artisan to another." "I didn't ask for these." She eyed him warily. Namrask made a show of deep ireliis toward the Kell's throne cloaked in darkness behind him. "Eia, I know. But as I told your father, quality dyes good for cloth, good for medicine. Our worlds are not that far apart." Eido let out a soft snort of derision. "You and I are very far apart from where I'm standing." Namrask inclined his head toward her. "As you say. But a great Kell told me once: to nurture life is the goal of weaving. Is that not yours also?" He offered the basket again and waited patiently. "…Eia," she finally replied, and accepted the basket with hesitant gratitude.