It takes an ardent attention to detail to make something from that that iron they bring in from the bogs. Half slag at best, many other smiths would throw it away. But it calls to be made pure. Continue reading “Rough to refined.”
How best can one honor the fallen? How best can they be avenged? It is not done through words from silver tongues, nor granted by the blessings of a foe. It is taken by those with pride in their kin, and the certainty of their convictions. Continue reading “On principle.”
From beneath the leaves and twigs of the year gone by they come. Heralded by the fleeting snows and rising sun, nourished by rain and breeze alike, they emerge from the ground below. Continue reading “The shoots.”
These fields stood empty in the winter. A vast swathe of land covered in nought but snow whilst surrounded by the evergreens whose colors peeked out from under blankets of white. Continue reading “Cycles.”
Upon the lands of forebears where farms and forests are, so many lives would toil and hunt beneath sun and countless stars, to all who would come after them that land would be a gift, and knowing well their place it was that there would be no rift.
