Her calloused fingers slip and slide along the strand, as each of the pedals yield to a crimson tipped foot, creating a soundless rhythm but for the whir of air flowing through the wheel's spokes. Hold and release converts tufts of greasy animal fur into long, tight fiber. Her voice rises and falls, concealing as much as she reveals, the story seamless as her threads. Inventing or remembering twists and turns, it is sometimes tangled in the telling, but still believable and, to her, still true. Each moment muffles its past, growing thicker as the yarn spins into the wheel.