The first thing people notice is that they are too perfect. The skin is unscarred and too smooth, without freckle or line, and has a faint sheen where the Weaver’s thread went in. Old injuries are simply gone: a lame man walks evenly, a scarred face is clear. Then the wrongness shows. A mended arm is a little too long, or its hand is a stranger’s, darker or older than the rest. A healed dog has a coat of perfect uniform colour and moves too smoothly. Some carry silvery threads under the skin that can be seen when they flex. They smell clean, like a newly scrubbed sickroom.

They are found where the Weaver has been, and they stay there: a village it "healed", a battlefield it walked after the fighting, a sickroom where someone accepted its offer. They are rare, and most are known to their neighbours.

They are themselves, and that is their misery. They remember what was done to them. Some are grateful and many are not, and most are both by turns. The changed flesh has its own pulls: a grafted hand reaches for what its first owner wanted, a straightened back aches for its old shape, and villages the Weaver mended wholesale find their people moving too much in step.

The mended flesh heals fast and almost never scars, which makes the Over-Mended hard to injure for long. Over time it changes: it may grow, spread to the skin around it, and want things its owner never wanted. In a few, the grafted part keeps the memories and urges of the one it was cut from. They do not spread the Weaver’s mending to others, though their neighbours often fear they do.

They are dangerous mostly to themselves and their kin: a grafted hand that strikes at night, an altered beast that turns on its herd. Their neighbours are dangerous to them. Healers who have met the Weaver’s work take its lesson, no mending without permission, and some try to cut away what can be cut. Most of the Over-Mended keep their sleeves long and their doors shut.

Human villages call them "the Weaver’s kept" or simply "the mended", and many believe their touch carries the Weaver’s thread. It does not, though a burrowing thread from the Weaver itself may cling to their clothes. Some kin say a mended person can be given back to themselves by having their old scars cut again; it is done, and seldom helps.

After a battle the Weaver has passed, the survivors who come home whole and strange are watched by their villages for a year; the tale goes round of a soldier who came back with a stranger’s sword-arm that remembered how to kill him.