The Tailor clicked their tongue, not in a dismissive tone but with the air of regret for lack of a better answer. "I know some fragments, old childhood rhymes and songs that I later learned had some meanings embedded, but unfortunately, not much of real substance. From what I understand, it's as old as the Neath, if not older. And it's literal, if I remember rightly. At least, I think it is?"

If there was anything in the small book that might have made sense to Thursday, it was the left-hand side; sketches of clothing that could feasibly be identified around the room. But they closed the little book with their left hand, the pencil tucked into it.

"I don't have a terrible attachment to names. I'm a Tailor, don't worry about remembering anything more. The beetle was very pretty, though not any kind I know. A surface species?" And then the Tailor added, lightly as to not cause a fuss, "Or I could leave you to your own notes on our classmates. Unless you're willing to exchange first impressions."