She breathed. La Nocsea was peculiar to her, too salty and too cool and far, far too blue for her tastes. She breathed it in, staring hard at a large stone that sat in the middle of a field just off the road. Deep gouges marked it's face: at least sixteen of those and counting were made by her alone. It felt heavy and unwieldy to her despite the fact that she had crafted it herself, honed the blade by hand and fitted the shaft to her own specifications. 'Never were much for them,' she thought to herself. 'What's a gal to do if it ain't with her hands?'
She breathed and raised the blade evenly with both hands, her body dropping into a slight crouch. It was her way, of course; the past few days had seen their ups and downs all dulled out by the near constant hammering of metals and ores. Five hundred and thirty three ingots all nearly identical; another two hundred rivets drummed out until the memory belonged more to her hands than her mind. It was the work that helped her focus and so she poured her soul along with every mold, filed away her troubles and drowned them in sweat.
It wasn't her fault. To think so would have been foolish and though Jajara Jara counted herself a fool she knew the blame could not fall to her. It did not stop her from breathing, however. Seventeen strikes down, marked with a grunt and a clang, it did not stop her regretting.
She breathed and raised the blade evenly with both hands, her body dropping into a slight crouch. It was her way, of course; the past few days had seen their ups and downs all dulled out by the near constant hammering of metals and ores. Five hundred and thirty three ingots all nearly identical; another two hundred rivets drummed out until the memory belonged more to her hands than her mind. It was the work that helped her focus and so she poured her soul along with every mold, filed away her troubles and drowned them in sweat.
It wasn't her fault. To think so would have been foolish and though Jajara Jara counted herself a fool she knew the blame could not fall to her. It did not stop her from breathing, however. Seventeen strikes down, marked with a grunt and a clang, it did not stop her regretting.
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