What the weaver kept fixed
The eight-point Auseklis holds the centre of every band — the weaver never scatters it loose across the field, only stacks it in line.
The crimson is wool steeped in madder root, not pigment — a brownish red that deepens with the years, never a fire-engine flash.
The ground is unbleached linen — a warm oatmeal greige that lets the madder sit true, where bleached white would shout the signs flat.
Every row answers itself — left repeats right in strict symmetry, so the belt reads the same whichever way it is tied.