Crafting Happiness

I have found two places that I like to call...mine. Places where I comfortably settle, lost in my own company and lost, too, in the work I am doing. When the Central Fire burns hot in the blue-white of sky, turning all beneath it's smiling rays to smoldering steamy bright colors, I seek a small cove at a bend in the stream. If I didn't know better I would swear that the dappled light, fingers that split the Central Fire into darker shades and spill it onto deep mossy green diffused through an umbrella of tall waving grass, came through a copse of trees. It is, in fact, gifted by a high knoll that cradles this cove of meandering water. The fronds of vegetation add to the height of the rise, hiding from view the gurgling water that plays in the mud below. The air is sweet and cool among the several scattered boulders. Crisp water washes the breeze, and leaves the trace of fresh grass and stone, the undertone a lingering heat of Lar' Torvis, much like a spice and sugar mixture for seasoning food.

When the heat of the day is not so blistering, there is a spot at the back platform of Master's Spex wagon. The light filters through the canopies of wagons, much like the sounds weave through the lanes and alleys. There is a spot open clear to the vast expanse of plains beyond, until it runs right into the smoky blue of horizon. There is a spot that gives a partial view of one of the larger lanes that leads to the Central Fire cooking spot. Immediately around the platform is a grassy area rimmed by several high tufts of grass. Solitude and company, all in one.
I have been camped out behind the Spex wagon for several days now, trying to finish this project I started. It is supposed to be done today, by my calculations. I have checked with several yearkeepers, a drummer, and even someone who claims..'to know'. Yesterday was the longest day of light for all seasons. Today is my birthday, 18 no less - a perfect day for giving special gifts - and I am determined to get this gift done to give to my Master.

The tawny hide that I found in the overstuffed supply wagon was still so supple and tender I couldn't help but stroke it along my cheek. The scent is rich and full, though not overpowering. The piece itself is small, perhaps taken from a fawn. It would hardly make any kind of clothing, except for the gloves I decided on. I guessed at the size, making it larger than my own tinier version. The stitches were tiny, and the seam thin, but I still had the excess fabric of hem on the outside of the glove instead of inside. The palms were thick, padded for a little extra comfort. The wrists could be drawn tighter with a small loop of leather strip. And finally, the fingers. They had no tips, just the casing for the fingers up to the first knuckle, exposing the ends of His fingers. Some parts of the body are meant to be protected, others, are meant to feel.