💜❤️💙 A LOVELY DAY IN RAFTA
Part 6 of 13
(link to Part 1)
Countdown to Potionomics Valentine's, Feb 13-15
The forge heat hit Corsac the moment he rounded the corner, air thick with the sharp tang of hot steel and something else—coal smoke, maybe, or the particular scent of worked metal. Markedly different from the forest air he preferred.
Muktuk stood at his anvil, massive frame moving with unexpected grace. The hammer rose and fell in steady rhythm, each strike ringing clear. Metal sang under the blows, transforming from shapeless rod to something purposeful.
Corsac stood there, observing. He couldn't help it. The precision was compelling; the way the smith knew exactly where to strike, how hard, how many times. Rules. Patterns. Cause and effect, visible and immediate.
Then the smith turned, catching him staring. Corsac's face heated.
"Ah! A customer! What can I craft for you?"
"Collection net." Corsac pulled the damaged equipment from his satchel. "The hooks failed."
"Let me see." Examining the bent hooks, Muktuk's brow furrowed—or what Corsac assumed was a furrow, given their bushiness. "The hooks are dull as well. They'll catch better when sharpened in the reforging."
"No." Corsac's response came quick, curt. "They need to stay blunt. Catching without piercing is the whole point."
"Ah. You're the hero who harvests without killing. I've heard of your work." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "You competed in the potion tournament, yes? Against Sylvia?"
Corsac pulled the brim of his hat low. "I did. I lost."
"Yes. But you held to your principles." Muktuk examined the net with an appreciation that bordered on reverence. "I forged Sylvia's cauldrons. She spoke of you. Of choosing harder methods because they're kinder to the island." The hooks rattled as he spread the net flatter. "This equipment tells the same story. Respect for the creatures."
"That's the goal." Corsac's face heated at the recognition, but his voice stayed certain. "Nothing deserves death for our convenience." His fingers found the blunt end of a hook to turn over.
"Yes, yes! You need spring steel, then!" Muktuk's whole demeanor brightened. "It has the flexibility to absorb a mighty thrashing. Bends but does not break, restrains but does not pierce. The perfect material for the work you do. Metal with a gentle heart!"
Somewhere behind the impressive eyebrows and magnificent mustache, Muktuk was looking right into him. Corsac was almost certain. His flippers went still for a heartbeat, and then he found something extremely interesting in his brazier to examine. "The hooks will take time. You can watch, if you like. Or come back tomorrow."
It was like watching an armordillo contract defensively, that moment of exposure followed by quick withdrawal to safety. Corsac had seen the pattern countless times in the field. He didn't understand what had triggered it now.
He started, attention refocusing automatically. Mint was practically skipping up to Muktuk's sled, hammer in hand, looking between them with poorly concealed curiosity.
"I didn't mean to interrupt," she said with a strange grin. "My weapon needs repairs, and Sylvia said this was the place!"
"You didn't interrupt," Corsac said, because technically they hadn't been speaking at the time. Simply standing in silence.
Given the way her smile stretched, she was probably relieved to have found a skilled metalworker with availability. Equipment failure in the field was always stressful.
"Yes! Your hammer." Muktuk cleared his throat, gesturing Mint forward with perhaps more enthusiasm than necessary. "Come, come. Allow me to see what needs repair."
Corsac slipped away toward the plaza, pausing to look back once. Muktuk was already bent over Mint's hammer, professional focus returned.
Tomorrow, then. He'd come back tomorrow.
The forge's warmth followed him into the street.
