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I work all day, hammering, polishing, melting, casting, and otherwise sweating over hot metal. A steady stream of warriors and farmers rushes through the forge, all of them in a hurry to have their axes, swords, spearheads, bridle bits, harness fittings, ploughs, hooks or chains in time for a Beltane blessing.
A Beltane blessing indeed, I think to myself, as I pound another link into place on a horse's headpiece. These craftings of war will be blessed by blood before another turning of the moon. With every stroke of my hammer, I think of my brothers...and my father, so lost without them. Is this all I can do? Make more tools for the Morrigan's delight? My eyes blur with tears, but I keep smashing down on the anvil with all my might.
The aching in my arms and the shadows on the wall tell me it is finally time to stop. After closing down the forge, I splash water on my face from the cask that collects rainwater by the door. Black soot runs in rivulets down my arms. I splash again and again, until the water runs clear.
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TRIPLES with EMMA
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All Posts (16) Messages posted by Brighid
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