Closed [Touch of Fire] To Blow the Fire A-flame (Quasar, please)

[Fia Eaven]

Fall, Day 28 of 512 AV "You hear the bells, Fia?" Her grandfather paused at the dark door to the forge, listening to the quickly cut ringing of a hammered anvil. "All men's work should be such music." Fia leaned against the door, listening to the honest song. She remembered the shape of her childhood, formed against the longhorn curve of the anvil. She remembered the purifying hiss of metal and water and the creaking sound of iron hinges as the smiths passed in and out the door. She remembered the smell of copper and the blood rising to the skin she turned toward the forge. They were years of use, and use brought a contentment like bread and meat when hungry. Would the city of stars and glass love iron and earth as much as she? Lhavit was a lofty shimmering place. The nearest she had known to its glow were the fireflies that looped around her head in summer. Her eyes crept ever upward and over the peaks in awed delight. Oh that the world held such things! Fia finally opened the Touch of Fire's door with her rough hands. "A good morning to the forge," she said with quiet brightness, "Is there any work to be given to a smithy in need of it?"