The workshop smelled of sleepy dust, and the faint, sweet scent of sheep’s wool. On the vast plains of the oak desk, the Great Lamp finally clicked off. Its dying hum left a silence so heavy you could almost hear the fluff of wool in the air settling into place. The Maker had gone to bed, leaving behind a landscape of silver pins, wooden spools and a half-finished cup of tea that looked, from a certain perspective, like a deep ceramic lake. For a long time, nothing moved. The