Fine Linen, Chapter Eight

The next thing Lina knew, the hands were carrying her toward a horrifying set of teeth, rows of teeth, sharper and fiercer than those that had stolen her seeds. A thrill of fear overtook her again. She flinched as she was flung over them and dragged through. Once again, parts of herself were torn away - shorter fibers which the person who worked with her collected and kept.
By now, Lina thought there might be a purpose to all this torture, so she tried to endure it bravely. But every time she sighed with relief, thinking it was finally over, she was taken to another set of teeth, finer and closer together than the ones before. Oddly enough, the combing hurt less than she expected it to. She began to watch the face above her. When it smiled, all her troubles were bearable.
It seemed an eternity since she had stood in her field in the sun, gossiping with the other plants.
Finally, she was looped into a twisted postion that would have been impossible in the old life, and laid on a shelf next to other loops of fiber. Left to themselves, they began to talk and whisper together, comparing experiences.
Some had gone through more than others. Some were short, some were long. Some were slick and shiny, others not so much. But one thing they all had in common. By listening carefully, they had learned that they were an entirely new thing. It seemed they were no longer flax. Now they were something called linen. They all agreed that it was a wonderful thing to be, and that their troubles had been worthwhile. They were, indeed, more beautiful than they had ever been, even in bloom. Yet here they were, piled together on a dark shelf. Was that it? Weren't they to be seen and appreciated?
It was all very hard to understand. Lina gave it up and awaited developments.

To be continued. . .
Repairing the Breach,
Debbonnaire