Ranuk just stared at him as Tamlin babbled, and the prince felt heat building in his cheeks-- those eyes, they were so strange and piercing, went right through him to his core.  It was uncomfortable, the way they shone in the moonlight; the eyes of a predator, and Tamlin hoped he wasn't prey.<br/><br/>Those eyes held him in silence, and then Ranuk held out his massive hand.  Tamlin set the tiny box in his palm: up closer, the details were more visible even in the weak light, the careful folds and twists and intricate shaping.  It was delicate work, a skill cultivated over years and years of practice.<br/><br/>"Naviin taught me, when we were young."  Tamlin remembered it clearly-- summer, lying in the shade, his brother's hands manipulating the blade of grass as well as any weaver.  Tamlin's first attempts had been messy, broken things, but Naviin had encouraged him to keep trying, and eventually he'd managed to finish one.  Naviin had smiled then, such a long time ago.<br/><br/>"He taught Sharia, too...  She learned the trick much faster than I."