...The caravan master marked the latest shipment in orange dye. Thirty bolts for the banner men, for the guards, for the carts themselves. Orange meant business. It meant moving merchandise. On the roads between cities, that color announced itself clearly. This train has coin, has purpose, moves with authority. Bandits looked for soft targets, and a caravan that announced itself clearly was a caravan that did business by law.

A young artisan took her first commission as a full member of the metalworkers' guild in orange livery. The dyer had woven the color into her work clothes, a temporary mark of her new status. It would fade. In a year, it would be pale, almost forgotten. But for now, when she walked through the guild halls, the orange declared the truth. She's new. She's proven herself. She's one of us. The other smiths nodded as she passed, recognizing the shade before recognizing her face.