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Aedon Durreah
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re: Hands of The Smith

The sun rose slowly in the east, and all about the glade of Aegis sprang to life. Birds began to chirp cheerfully as they hopped through the ground cover picking up fat worms to feed the young ones waiting hungrily in their nests. The clatter of pots and pans, dishes and silverware, and all things that folks use to prepare the morning repast mingled with the sounds of nature in a symphony not lost on the ears of the frog king.

Within the tiny shop, in the heart of the glade, he labored on the boards he had laid out before him. Both ends and the sides already cut out, Aedon picked up a fine chisel and began to carve out intricate Celtic designs in the wood. His hands, though a bit stiff, remembered with ease the feel of the tool they held.

With the ease of a practiced artisan, he etched the pieces, lovingly stroking the surface to clear away any chips or dust left behind. He rounded an edge of the design, holding the piece at an angle that would enable him to turn it, the door slammed behind him suddenly, causing him to gouge his fingers with the chisel.

“Mi’ lord! What are you doing?”

Turning to face Malac, Aedon glowered as he shoved a bleeding finger into his mouth.

“What the bloody feck does it look like I am doing?”

Startled a bit by the commonness of his remark, the Knight stared for a moment. Then, noticing that Aedon had cut a finger, moved towards him offering to assist.

“You should not be doing such things, Sire. Have John see to this task and come inside Connemara to have that wound tended.”

Withdrawing his finger from between his lips, Aedon shook it a bit sending drops of blood flying towards the bewildered man.

“I do not want John, or anyone, doing this for me. I am more than capable of using tools Malac. It is not like my hands are being used for anything else.”

“What is it that you are making, if I may be so bold as to ask?”


Looking back to the pieces on the table Aedon smiled gently and said, “It is a cradle.”

Malac looked over the work Aedon had done, and could not help but be impressed with the design he etched in the wood. He watched as the Aedon again picked up one of the pieces, and carefully ran his palm around the edges, and then, looking back to Malac, smiled saying.

“I plan to surprise Janissan with it this week.”

“Your child, Sire, should not be laid to rest in a rough carved cradle on calico cloths. She should have the finest furnishings. Silken coverlets and down bedding should shelter her. It is not right that she should be kept so...”
Malac stopped suddenly and lowered his eyes to the ground.

Turning back towards him, Aedon asked, “Common? Is that the word you are trying not to use?”

Setting down his chisel Aedon walked towards his old friend laying his hand on the old Knight's shoulder.

“Common is a good word my friend. It should not be used only to refer to folks and actions that one finds distasteful. It is common for a father to love his children and look forward to the birth of a new one. It is common for a man to seek to provide for his family, to use what his hands, body and mind can do to see to their comforts.

“I like feeling that I am doing what I should as a father to welcome this new life into the world. And if a small nick on the finger and calloused hands are the price, then it is well worth it.”

Grinning, Aedon wiped the bloody finger on Malac's shirt then turned back to his work.

Shaking his head a bit, Malac turned to leave. Opening the door, he paused for a moment saying, “I will have food and drink sent out to you, mi lord.”

It was not clear if Aedon heard him, he did not acknowledge the words spoken nor did he flinch as the door to the smithy shut behind the departing man. His eyes were already fixed on the task before him.
Cennwyn
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re: Hands of The Smith

Love this. Well written, lovely little scene fragment. More please!


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