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BY THE PRECEPTS OF HER PURITY
“It seems straightforward enough.”
Maren watched as the mare nodded, perhaps lazy in her stance. (Lazy in her mind). She seemed to understand what she had been going for, even though Maren sometimes wondered what her attempt on handiwork must look like to those within the artisan careers. She wasn’t really on their level, or the same at all; dangling and swaying from artisan to diviner, back and forth or perhaps both at the same time. She didn’t even know which of the two she was more these days — of course she knew but... Which one had truly been appreciated? I guess I am just another cloud hanging between sea and land — Not that she minded, not at all. Compared to these metal foundations, she had never been as straightforward after all.
(Since when did she get sentimental enough to start caring whether or not what she did was appreciated?)
She sighed as she felt the warmth press on her damp coat, sweat lingering underneath her mane, behind her ears. “I wasn’t there, but I figure it was Anzanie. We met her at the World’s Edge, a talented crafter,” she said, she summer-sun pressing on her tone. She wondered if what the Transcended was looking for was small talk or if she was honestly curious. “She seemed nice.” As far as my judgement goes, she thought, keeping in a shrug.
She remembered appreciating the handiwork, the way the colors were mixed through the frail glass, wrapped and held together within the lead. She had acknowledged and enjoyed the logic behind it, but now that she was looking at it again, with Sohalia, she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of emotions the glass shaper had put into it. The reflective coloration caused the yellow sand to dance in color as well. As if there were some kind of magic dancing deep within the surface. Dancing, dancing, lightly, gracefully. Tugging — pulling on… emotions? Perhaps that’s what hanging around with true artisan’s did to one’s mind. Fuel for sentimental thoughts. “Anyway,” she scraped her throat, making place for a more logical train of thoughts to choo-choo away the ridiculous visions of dancing light in all kinds of brilliantly colored harmonies within the sandy frames of the Throat’s gold shimmering sand. “If you don’t mind, I’m going back to work now.” — Sweat out this nostalgic feeling. She would’ve liked Gaucho to at least see the finished Temple, though she thought he had probably not cared too much about it in the few last remaining seconds of his life. “Faith inside sperm muscles!” he would’ve probably said… or something along those lines… — No, wait — he had truly cared, she knew that much. It was time to turn away, back to her pillar, back to her work.
“Be strong...”
Ugh... She had bit her tongue.
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