Once upon a time there was a Weaver who fashioned the loveliest of all fabrics. One night as she slept, Death paid her a visit.
“Why do you work so hard?” Death asked. “There isn’t a knot you weave that I can’t untie.”
This saddened the Weaver, and she said, “Just give me a little more time. I’m sure I’ll discover how to tie my thread so it can’t be undone.”
“Be my guest,” Death replied. “I have all the time in the world.”
Upon awakening, the Weaver set upon a quest to learn how to tie a knot that couldn’t be undone. She labored long hours and read many books before an idea grew in her mind.
“I’ll find two unique threads instead of using just one. Each must possess qualities not found in the other, yet won’t lose their inherent beauty when fashioned into a new material.”
She searched the world, only to find that most threads wouldn’t agree to such an arrangement. One day she saw what she’d been searching for, and with a wave of her hand began the process of winding the two threads together.
The fabric began taking form almost immediately. The Weaver guarded her craft from prying eyes least Death discover what she was doing.
As years passed the threads took on a greater beauty. The fabric became stronger and stronger. No sooner had the Weaver finished the garment, Death knocked on her door.
“What have you to show me?”
“Something that you can not undo.”
The announcement made Death laugh. “Don’t be silly, Weaver - - give me your thread.”
“You’re welcome to either,” the Weaver answered, “for there are two, and they’re now woven into one with knots that you can not untie.”
Death snatched one thread from the Weaver’s hands and attempted to teach it his dance. The thread dissolved in his hands. Death picked up the garment woven of two, but was unable to tear it apart.
“What have you done?” Death asked.
“I discovered something. Individual threads may be dust in your hands, but in truth? Once woven together they take on a quality neither possess alone. The only loss they experience when you take one of the threads is nothing compared to what each gave to the garment. The real loss would have been had the garment never been fashioned.”
“I have my ways,” Death insisted. “I’m not done here.”
“Perhaps,” the Weaver said, “but you’re unable to destroy this. It’s finished. Even time can not touch it. The garment will be worn by the survivor until you come for the other skein of thread.”
“But what have you gained?” Death asked.
“Life,” the Weaver answered, “and Love.”
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