Elena

18

In the stifling heat surrounded by carefully organized tools, dried up glue bottles lay on a nicked up wooden table. The air has a slight metallic taste mixed with the buzz of a radio turned down. A man with a face blackened by charcoal dust is peering into a glowing forge. In a swift movement, he pulls on a pair of worn gloves covered with scorched holes. With handcrafted tongs he reaches into the smoldering flames to remove a piece of bright orange steel, held like a prisoner in its clutches. Turning to face a nearby anvil, the man gently lays down the steel and starts to pound rhythmically on it with a hammer. Its amber glow dissipates into a shade of dark grey as the metal cools. A sword is born.