"Only, then. Though I think not for long," he remarks as he starts to measure Shephard's arm.
"Would you tell me your story as I work?"
Many things will go into this working: silver, stardust, the roots of a mountain, the breath of a fish, the footfalls of a cat...but the part that will make it HIS is the tale of Shephard's life woven into the metal.
Somehow, there is time enough before sunrise for Shephard to tell his whole life's story as the Smith shapes the metal that will be his hand. (It is only when the work is done that the Marine will feel utterly exhausted, drained. Has he been talking for hours, days, weeks? It is impossible to say.)
When the tale ends, the hand and arm sit upon the table in gleaming silver. It looks like nothing more and nothing less than his old arm rendered silver. There are no seams, no joints, no sign of how the thing was made....
The Smith speaks once more. "All that remains to be done is the binding of the work to your flesh."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-04-19 01:42 am (UTC)"Would you tell me your story as I work?"
Many things will go into this working: silver, stardust, the roots of a mountain, the breath of a fish, the footfalls of a cat...but the part that will make it HIS is the tale of Shephard's life woven into the metal.
Somehow, there is time enough before sunrise for Shephard to tell his whole life's story as the Smith shapes the metal that will be his hand. (It is only when the work is done that the Marine will feel utterly exhausted, drained. Has he been talking for hours, days, weeks? It is impossible to say.)
When the tale ends, the hand and arm sit upon the table in gleaming silver. It looks like nothing more and nothing less than his old arm rendered silver. There are no seams, no joints, no sign of how the thing was made....
The Smith speaks once more. "All that remains to be done is the binding of the work to your flesh."