Kestle

From an early age Kestle knew what she wanted to do – what occupation called to her. Building monuments and tombstones, digging up the dry dusty earth – that wasn’t for her. It was in the forge that she belonged, feeling the heat of the fires and hefting a hammer in her hand. She’d spend all day watching the armourers and weapon smiths of her home clan.

It was all so fascinating to her – how a skilled craftsman could mould a lump of metal into whatever form they wanted. And such varied forms as well! Weapons, armour, jewellery, trays, picture frames…it’s probably safe to say that Kestle was enamoured with the whole thing.

Kestle’s family tolerated her fascination, but she knew that they thought she’d “grow out of it.” That it was “just a phase she’s going through.” It wasn’t. As she grew, Kestle’s desire to own her own forge (or even just work in one) became stronger too.

She began hoarding bits of wire and brightly coloured beads, twisting the wires and threading the beads onto them, in a mockery of a necklace she’d seen being made once. It looked nothing like the real thing, but in her mind’s eye Kestle saw herself producing one in the future, one that someone would be proud to wear. One that Kestle herself would be proud of.

But still…it wouldn’t be easy. The others in the clan shared her family’s view that Kestle would grow out of this “phase.” They weren’t outwardly nasty about it, but there was a definite feeling of disappointment whenever any of them spoke to her. Soon as she was able to, she’d be leaving. It was time to start making her way along a path she’d decided for herself.