Kansai

Kansai ran a thumb over the freshly sanded stalk, the fine dust clinging to their charcoal-grey fur. For three days, they had worked this single piece, thinning the walls for a ceremonial flute requested by a member of the Panda Council. The purple light of The Great Panda City filtered through the workshop window, illuminating the bamboo. And the flaw. A hairline crack, almost invisible, running from one node to the next. All that intense focus, wasted. Their breath caught, mouth agape. The warrior in them wanted to snap it clean in half. But the craftsman, the practical survivor who knew waste was a luxury, saw another path. This piece would never sing, but it could become a dozen other things. Kansai set it aside, grabbed a new stalk from their batch, and began again.