Carantoc

The land of fire goes by a steady rhythm. The tools hit the metal in a steady bang and the pieces are passed along one by one, in a row and after one another. Carantoc learned this rhythm. He learned how to breathe to it, how his heart beat by it. He learned to listen to the hisses and hums of his coatl co-workers and now to speak with them through the beating of metal against metal. It was something that he grew up knowing.

But with all the work that Carantoc did, he failed to learn how to interact with the world beyond. He only knew the rhythm of the metal and the bang of the hammers. He only knew the hums of the coatls and the shouts of his fellow workers as they tossed pieces to one another. He did not know anything else. So when he was told that he ought to leave, ought to take his talents to a place where they were scarce, he left with little knowledge of the world beyond.

When he settled into the clan, he did not know that some would try to trick or swindle him or make fun of him. He hardly knew they were doing so. He would work and they would take and they would use his pieces and show them off. Carantoc thought that was that. He thought that they were proud of them. And they were. They were quite prideful of the beautiful pieces that he wrought. Some spoke to him, smiling and kindly shaking his hand, like Eagleeye. Others would skitter by and grab a piece, like Iceridge. Others would stomp on over and take their desired piece, like Loki. It mattered not to Carantoc. They liked his work. That was good enough.

Bio made by FloatingInSpace