The young spinner paused, examined xir work. “I’m not terribly good at this.” And indeed, fibers of half formed thoughts stuck out from xir thread at odd angles they weren’t supposed to, and xir ideas were clogged thick at some places and pulled nigh unbearibly thin at others.

“Perhaps,” said xir master, letting eir own gossamer strand of spun consciousness slip through eir fingers, perfect and uniform. “But you are inexperienced. Skill comes with time, and practice. Come, take up the spindle again.”