[Flashback] Pushing Through The Pain (Solo)

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

31st Day of Autumn, 511 AV Tock ached. Every part of her body ached. She was hurting in places she didn't even know she HAD, which would have been fascinating as a study of human anatomy, if she wasn't too tired to think straight. She just wanted to sleep and sleep and keep on sleeping, until the hurting went away. The sun was glaring in her eyes. She groaned, wishing she could stab the sun right in its face. She didn't even care if it brought eternal night across the whole world, as long as she could go back to sleep... Crap, she thought, her eyes straining to open. Work... She'd forgotten she had this new job to deal with. How could she forget, when the memory of it was etched in every aching muscle, every strained tendon of her body...? Groaning, she pulled herself out of bed. It hurt to walk. It hurt to stand up straight, though stretching her back out DID help a little. She needed a stiff drink or something, but she didn't think her new bosses would appreciate her showing up to work toasted. Besides, like it or not, she had too much work ethic for that... Some time later, after settling on coffee instead of booze to wake her up and warm her aching bones, she found herself before the sweltering forge once more. She was staring at the coal shovel, thinking it was an evil, evil thing. But if she didn't get the furnace stoked, she wouldn't be able to get another lesson today. Sighing, she bent down, whimpering and moaning in protest at the strain, and picked up the shovel. It had to be done, and she wasn't going to try to get out of it. She had too much pride.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock heaved, and threw, and breathed, then heaved again, tossing shovelful after shovelful onto the coals. She silently promised herself that one day, when she had her own forge and workshop, she would build a golem to shovel coal for her. Golems didn't get tired. They didn't sweat. They didn't have muscles that could ache, bones that groaned in protest, or tender skin that could get scraped and bruised from an accidental slip or stumble. Tock wished she were a golem. She was sure there were downsides, but right that moment, amidst her creaking bones and panting breath, she couldn't think of one. She carefully watched the flames as she shoveled, remembering what she had been told yesterday about how to judge the proper heat. Once she was sure it was achieved, she set the shovel down and grabbed the heavy hammer, stepping over to the anvil. "I didn't tell you to stop shoveling," Gondanir told her in the same gruff tone he seemed to say everything in. "Ya done told me yesterday what fer ta not make 'er no 'otter 'an 'at," she protested. "So's as I can either stand 'ere an' does nothin' fer the next ten minutes, o' I's can 'elp ya does the good stuff..." Despite her aching muscles, she was here to learn. If she was going to go home today so tired she couldn't move, she at least wanted something to SHOW for that pain. Gondanir smirked, the first time in two days that she'd seen him wearing anything other than a scowl (though it was still a scowly smirk. Maybe his face really WAS built that way?) "Very well," he said, nodding her over. "But I expect you to still keep the fire hot in between..." She nodded weakly, not sure how she was going to keep up with that. Resting in between shoveling DID sound like a good idea... But no. She had brains in her head, and knew how to build stuff. She wasn't just made for physical labor. She could have gotten a job down at the docks, carrying crates and hauling cargo. But she wanted to learn something. She raised the hammer, wishing she could wield it with her brains. They were aching the way her arms were. "What we makin'?" she asked.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"Golden horse shoes," Gondanir replied. Tock snorted and laughed. "Ya can't done make no 'orseshoes outta gold!" she said. She might not know much about blacksmithing, but she knew gold was too soft a material for something like that. "Gold plated," the Isur replied, not surprisingly showing no signs of humor. "For a rich man who thinks they will bring him good luck." "'Ow's gold what's gots ta does wit' luck?" she asked, raising the hammer to her shoulder and getting ready to start. She had heard of lucky horse shoes before, but not lucky gold horseshoes. "He is rich," Gondanir replied stoicly, placing a hot iron rod against the anvil. "If he wishes them to be gold, they will be gold." Tock shrugged, not seeing the point of adding useless gold to a perfectly good iron shoe. But if that was the job, that was the job.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

A horseshoe was a pretty basic shape. Most of it involved curving the iron around the horn of the anvil with a series of strikes, adjusting he position of the metal just slightly after each one. Tock watched carefully as Gondanir made each adjustment, tapping carefully to indicate where she needed to strike next. He had clearly been doing this a long time, and didn't even seem to need to think about each adjustment he made, flowing from one to the next smoothly and with little effort. Tock was fascinated by it. The process was so very different from shaping wood. With wood, you cut away the extra material, leaving behind only the final product. But with iron, you shaped and molded what was there with pure force of strength. Of course, woodcarving wasn't nearly this tiring. Each swing of the heavy hammer was a struggle, each inch the iron shifted and curved born from her sweat and pain. Once the first shoe was shaped, she dropped the hammer, barely missing her own toe. "Pick it back up," Gondanir demanded. Shoulders slumped, Tock stared at the hammer on the ground. It was a long way down there. "Pick it up," Gondanir repeated, his tone growing somehow even colder, "or admit defeat and lie down there in the dirt and ash with it..." Tock didn't even ask what made him so adamant about it. She knew all about respecting your tools. Her Granddad had taught her that. She hadn't even meant to drop it, her strength had simply given out. She slooowly bent down, her body protesting the entire time, and retrieved the tool from the ground. She placed it back on the workbench where it belonged, then stared blankly when Gondanir handed her the smaller hammer and punch, which looked like a strange hammer of sorts with a long, narrow rod in place of the head. Gondanir stared at her until she took the tools in weak hands, and stepped over to the shoe. "Place this here," he directed her, guiding her hand to place the punch onto the horseshoe. "Always be sure the place you strike is over the hole." He had aligned the horseshoe over the hole at the back end of the anvil. "Then strike." Tock nodded, too tired to find words, and struck the hammer on the back of the punch. "Harder!" the Isur told her. She struck again, and he made a vexed sound. "Harder! Make it feel it! Punch it right through!" Grunting with frustration, Tock pounded until the hot metal gave way and the hole was forced through. Another dozen or so like that would complete the shoe, making holes for the nails that would hold the shoe to a horse's hoof. At least, if these were going to be worn by a horse instead of hung on a rich man's wall.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock finished punching out the holes in the horseshoe, and then Gondanir shoved her onto a stool and thrust a waterskin at her. "Sit," he ordered her. "Continue when you can stand without swaying like grass in the wind." She gulped down the water and poured some of it over her head to relieve herself from the heat of the forge. She watched the Isur shovel more coal into the fire, silently cursing herself. She knew that part was her job, like it or not, and even though Gondanir didn't complain, she didn't feel right letting her supervisor do her work for her. Of course, she barely had the strength just then to lift the waterskin to her lips, so there wasn't much she could do about it. As soon as she had enough strength back to stand, she forced herself back to her feet and stepped up to the forge again. The Isur eyed her, silent, no doubt expecting her to collapse. She held her hand out for the shovel, and he simply handed it to her. She was still aching and had to move slowly to conserve what little energy her short break had restored to her, but she pushed on through, determined to prove herself. Though this time when she had the fire hot enough, she did pause to lean on the shovel for a few minutes to catch her breath.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"Lunch," Gondanir told her, shoving her onto the stool again and placing a plate of food onto the workbench in front of her. She stared at it for a moment, wondering if it was possible to be so tired she actually couldn't eat. Each lift of the fork to her mouth was a strain, and she thought about just lying her face on the plate and eating like a dog. She didn't care if she made a mess of herself, as long as she didn't need to lift her arms anymore. She slowly ate, glad she was putting some more energy into her body. Then she got to sit and rest for awhile, as the aching in her muscles faded just a bit from an unbearable blaze to only a thick, dull burn. Gondanir got back to work immediately as soon as he was done eating, and she wanted to join him, but she just couldn't keep up with an Isur. It wasn't exactly fair. He had his God-crafted stone arm... thing, and she just had her soft pink human flesh. Though she also had a stubborn toughness born and bred in the streets of Sunberth, and she wasn't going to let herself be defeated. She watched him continue working on the next shoe, conserving her energy until she felt strong enough to get up again. She eventually rose, leaning back with her hands braced on her waist to crack and stretch out her back. Then she stepped up to the Isur and held out her hand for the tool. Instead of handing her the big striker hammer, he handed her a smaller one and a pair of tongs. "You should learn this part too," he said. She nodded, stepping up and using the tongs to grab the next piece of hot iron. She wondered if he was giving her the less physically straining job because he thought she was too weak, or because he wanted to see how she handled the iron. Maybe it was a bit of both. "Do as I did," he said, hefting the heavier hammer in his hand. "Show me where to strike..." She glanced at him for a moment, certain he didn't need her to show him anything. He was clearly testing her, wanting to see if she could do the job. She had helped him with the first shoe, and watched from her seat over lunch as he worked on the second. The shape was simple enough. She held the glowing metal against the anvil horn and gave it a quick strike with the hammer. The Isur didn't move. He just stared at her. She frowned, looking down at the iron and wondering what she had done wrong. Then she realized she was gripping it too close to the top, and didn't have it aligned optimally. She adjusted her grip with the tongs, and placed the rod lower on the anvil so that it could be bent at a better spot. She tapped where she thought it needed to be struck. Then she winced and squealed as the giant hammer came swinging at her. Caught off guard by the expected force of the Isur's swing, she stumbled back and dropped the tongs, shaking her arm as pain lanced through it. The iron rod clanged on the stone floor, sending hot sparks flying everywhere. Tock looked up at the Isur, shaking and gasping for breath. "Pick it up!" he commanded. "Aye," she said, nodding and scrambling to retieve both the tongs and the iron rod. She took a deep breath, setting the rod against the anvil once more. "Didn't done knew ya could hit 'er like 'at..." she muttered, bracing herself this time. She had thought being on this end was the easy part, since she didn't need to swing the big heavy hammer around. What she hadn't realized was that she needed to keep her grip tight when that same hammer came down on the iron she held. She braced herself, struck the iron, and then tightened her stance as the hammer came down again. Pain lanced up her arm from holding the iron in place against the Isur's hard strike, and she had the feeling he was holding back. She didn't want to see how much it would hurt if he used his full strength. The process continued, her adjusting the iron ever so slightly for each strike, and periodically thrusting it back into the heat to keep it malleable. After awhile she figured out how to adjust her grip a bit and better absorb the impact, so it didn't hurt quite as bad. They started to develop a rhythm as she got a better feel for how to hold the iron, and was able to adjust it just a little more smoothly before each strike. She slowly got into the groove, planning out the next adjustment while Gondanir was still in mid-swing. She felt like maybe she was starting to get the hang of things. Of course, the more skilled smith still had to fix the shoe up at the end. He made her take a break while he straightened out the spots she hadn't quite gotten right, adjusting the iron until it was a perfect match for the other two. Then he called her back over to punch the nail holes through the iron and finish the piece.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

She did a little better on the fourth shoe, striking and shaping it one blow at a time with the aid and guidance of the Isur. She was starting to get just a bit of an idea about the right places to strike to bend the metal, and how to keep it straighter instead of knocking it lopsided. She started noticing the fading color as the glow of the heated metal went from yellow down to a fading orange, indicating it was cooling too much to be workable. After awhile Gondanir no longer needed to tell her when to return the metal to the heat, and she just did it on her own. She was curious about more advanced techniques, like how to properly shape the head of a chisel or other tool. She knew from experience working with such tools that the cutting edge had to be shaped just right, though she wasn't sure how to use the hammer for such shaping. That would be for another day, though. For today, she bent the iron into a careful curve, and punched out the nail holes around the rim, bringing life to the metal by sheer force of strength and determination. And exhaustion. By the time the process was complete, she wanted to die. She would happily crawl into her own grave, except it would, you know, involve moving. She didn't even think she could make it back to the room she was renting, she was so exhausted. It was only a few blocks away, but she may as well have been walking back to Syliras, for how far it seemed. And she had to come back tomorrow and do it all again. It was only late afternoon or early evening (she wasn't sure which, since she didn't know when one 'officially' ended and the other began) when she got back to her room. She barely made it to the bed before passing out, and she slept all through the afternoon and evening into the night. She got up once during the night to go relieve herself, then went outside and actually jumped in the canal to cool off her burning muscles. It felt great. After that, she slept the night away until it was time for work in the morning. All told she slept nearly fifteen bells, and she still wanted to sleep more. She just hoped today there wouldn't be any shoveling.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

She walked in and Gondanir immediately handed her a large sledge hammer. She grinned wide. "No shovelin' today!?" she asked with glee. The sheer joy of that fact almost made her forget the ache that was still in her body. Sleeping the majority of the day had helped, but she was still extremely stiff. "No," Gondanir told her, his voice stoic as always. She wondered if all Isur were like this, or if Gondanir was just a jerk. "Today, we make gold leaf." Tock arched an eyebrow, hoisting the hammer onto her shoulder with a grunt. "Gold leafs?" she asked, picturing golden tree leaves made out of hammered metal. "Uhhh... aye, okay." She shrugged. It could be interesting. It... wasn't. She was taken to a room where several other apprentices were already working. Some thin sheets of gold were placed between two thick iron plates, in a short stack with thin pieces of sheepskin between them, and Gondanir told her to start pounding it. "Fer 'ow long," she asked. "All day," was his reply. Tock started at him. If he was joking, if he even joked at all, the stoic bastard, she was going to smack him upside the head with the hammer. "Whaddya mean, 'all day'?" she asked. "The gold must be pounded for at least seven hours," he told her. "First strike for at least half a bell. Then we cut the gold, layer it between sheepskin in a stack, and begin again. Strike for another half a bell, cut, layer, begin again. The gold must be thinner than paper before it can be gilded to the shoes." Tock stared at him. He was serious. She heaved a sigh, nodded, and stepped up. "Pace yourself," he told her. "Strike for three minutes. Rest for one. You will last longer that way..." She shot him a look, thinking he was commenting on her 'weakness,' but then she noticed the others were doing the same thing. Even someone in better shape than her couldn't swing a hammer non-stop for a full day's work without pacing themselves. "Aye, Bossman," she said, raising the hammer to swing. "Aye."

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound. Breathe. It was tedious work. Tiring. Loud. Tiring. She swung the hammer as steadily as she could, not even able to tell it was having any effect. Every few minutes, the whole line of workers paused, lowering their hammers to the ground and catching their breath. Water was passed around, and Tock drank regularly and kept splashing some on her face and neck. Then the pounding continued. The periodic breaks, short as they were, helped a lot with keeping up a steady pace. After the first half a bell, however, she was already aching again. When the first round was complete, Gondanir guided her through carefully cutting the thin sheets, which Tock didn't think could get any thinner. Each thin sheet was sliced into four sections, which took great care to ensure it wouldn't bunch or crumple during the cutting. They were then stacked back together again, with alternating layers of sheepskin between them, resulting in a stack four times as tall as the original. This was placed back between the iron, and the pounding began again. Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound. Breathe. Tock gradually found herself slowing, unable to quite keep up with the pace of the other workers. Which ended up costing her, since Gondanir made her keep going another five minutes longer than the others to ensure the gold was sufficiently flattened. When the second round was complete, she stretched and cracked her back, and already seriously wanted to take a lunch break. The sheets were somehow even thinner than before, and had to be carefully cut once more. Tock's hands were shaking slightly from her exhaustion, and Gondanir made her wait and rest until the ache started to fade before continuing. She hated being coddled like this... She was the only woman here, and she felt like the other apprentices were looking down on her. She hated that. She couldn't stand being treated like she was weak just because she was a girl. After the sheets were cut, they were placed into square molds to ensure they would hold a uniform shape on the final round of hammering. The gold was so thin now that they had to lightly powder it before placing each thin square of sheepskin between them. Otherwise the gold would stick, break, and become useless. They brushed powder over each piece with a rabbit's foot, which she learned was because the softness of the fur made it the ideal tool for working the gold without damaging it. It took quite awhile to stack the sheets together. They had had a large number of sheets to begin with, and after flattening and quartering them, then flattening and quartering them again, they now had sixteen times the number they'd started with. Tock didn't mind this part though; laying the thin gold down, powdering it, and adding the sheepskin was easy, light work. It was more detailed work like she was used to, instead of grueling physical labor. Each little square of gold was only two inches wide, and so thin Tock didn't believe they could be spread to fill the full five inch width of the molds. But they were. It took another five hours of pounding for everyone else, and six for Tock since by the end, she was moving so much slower than everyone else. Her body was sore, her hands felt like they were getting blisters even despite the leather gloves she wore for protection, and she felt like she had drank enough water to fill one of the canals outside. She silently promised herself that when she ran her own shop, nothing she made would ever be gold plated.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock slept long and hard again that night, and had dreams of pounding gold. She woke up several times with a start, to the imagined sound of the Isur yelling at her to keep up. It was a restless sleep of aching muscles and misery, at the end of which she gave long and serious consideration to quitting her job. But then, on the one hand she had never been a quitter, and on the other hand she didn't know WHAT other job she could hope to get in a city like this. Sighing, she pulled her soiled clothes back on on the morning of the 33rd of Autumn, and trudged back down to the smithy. She wondered if she would ever get used to the dull ache in her muscles each day. Maybe she just wasn't cut out for this kind of work. Building things was great. She was already a skilled crafter. But this? This was such hard, hard work that she didn't know if she could keep up with it. Maybe she could find a job carving wood somewhere. "Please no more poundin' please no more poundin' please no more poundin'..." she muttered as she walked into the workshop. Her arms couldn't take another day of that. She walked up to Gondanir, wincing in anticipation. He handed her a pair of tongs, and she heaved a very audible sigh of relief. He stared at her for a moment, and she couldn't tell if he was annoyed or amused. All of his facial expressions usually looked the same to her. "Wotcher, Bossman?" she asked him. He was either familiar with the slang, or just chose to ignore it, and said, "Today we apply the gilding. Fetch the shoes..." She nodded and pulled out the horseshoes, while Gondanir brought out a box containing the stacks of gold leafing they'd made the day before. "It is a delicate process, so you will hold the shoes." She nodded again, understanding if he didn't want her handling the delicate, paper-thin materials. She also didn't want to have to spent another day re-pounding them if something got messed up. With a wire brush, she carefully scraped and cleaned off the shoes to ensure there were no impurities left on the surface that might get trapped under the gold. She carefully cleaned them until the iron had a bit of a shine, then heated them in the furnace again just a bit to ensure anything remaining was burnt off. Then they were dipped in a mildly acidic philter, cleaned and polished some more, and then she brought them over to the Isur. "Do as I do," he told her, taking one shoe and an etching tool. He began scraping a series of thin lines across the metal in a checkered pattern. Tock nodded and started doing the same. This process was more familiar to her; it wasn't so different from some techniques used in wood carving. The delicate etching work was a relief after the heavy activity of the last few days. They worked through all four shoes, slowly and steadily, and Tock almost wished she knew what God to pray to in thanks for having a task she could sit down while doing. Once the lines were etched, there was another round of cleaning and polishing, and it was time to add the gold. "Heat the iron," Gondanir told her, "but not so much that it glows. Gold is delicate. Too much heat will ruin the process." Tock placed the first shoe into the furnace, holding it with a pair of long tongs. She waited, trying to count the time needed before it would be red hot. After a certain wait, she noticed an ever so slight shift in Gondanir's stance. He said nothing, likely wanting her to figure it out on her own, but she took it as a clue that it was time. She pulled the shoe out, holding it up and looking it over carefully. She could feel the heat radiating from it as she carried it to the workbench. Gondanir performed the delicate work of carefully lifting each paper-thin gold sheet with a pair of wooden sticks, and she was surprised that his thick fingers could manipulate the thin sticks so carefully. He laid the sheets over the shoes one at a time, and they immediately melted into place, working their way into the etched grooves to adhere to the metal. Before it cooled he handed her a small tool tipped with agate. "Rub," he said. "Gently." Using the tool she rubbed the gold down so that it was firmly adhered to the iron. As the layers were applied and began to cool, the metal hardened, and soon she couldn't tell that she wasn't looking at a solid piece of gold. They continued the process for all four shoes, heating them just short of red hot, gently applying the gold, and rubbing it into place with the burnisher. Once it was complete they were packed away gently with wool padding, ready to be shipped off to the client. Tock stood and stretched, grinning. This had been more like it. She had had to endure two days of utter hell and pain, but at the end, there had been delicate, detailed work that was much more her style. She was still stiff and sore from the previous days' work, but she wouldn't be so exhausted when she went back to her rented room this time. "Well," she said to the Isur, "see ya tomorrow!" "Do not come in tomorrow," he said gruffly, not looking at her. She stopped and stared at him. Had she done something wrong? Was she fired? She thought she had been doing a good job. "Oy, why the 'ell not?" she asked. "Tomorrow is a holiday," he told her. "We are closed." "Oh," she muttered, then grinned and laughed in embarrassment. Then the most shocking thing happened: Gondanir grinned back. It was brief, it was small, and she wasn't even sure she had seen it, but it made her grin wider. Maybe he was starting to like her.