I was wandering through the worker's village this morning. It was such a rotten day; cold and misty with bursts of rain that coated everything. I knew the library would have a warm fire, good books to explore and a servant to fetch hot buttered rum and sweet cakes. But for some forsaken reason I kept wandering. I don't know why, I just had an urge to explore a bit and the bleakness that surrounded me seemed so fitting.

Then I heard a ringing of metal on metal. Walking toward the sound I found myself entering one of the smithies that support our family's holding. I had never even wondered what had happened in such places before. Yet upon entering, the scene I found was so very interesting. the burly blacksmith stood at the forge. He was hammering a bar of steel. Then he placed it back into the forge, heating it red, then went to hammering it again. The red sparks flying with each hammer blow.

I stood there watching. The creation of a steel sword was beautiful in a way I would never have guessed. In time I found myself helping the smith, operating a large bellows to increase the heat of the forge. The smith is a true master of his craft - no doubt of that. As I watched the bar was folded onto itself so many time. then, with time and so many heatings and blows of hammers, the blade took shape.

In its own way the crafting of the blade was magic. Each stage required such skills that I had never before imagined. yes, the days had seemeed almost sad as I had started my wanderings. But as I walked home from the smithy, I knew the day had been filled with wonders.

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