A/N Hey there darlin's! Haven't gotten any reviews yet, 'course I just
posted it about an hour ago.....anyway, next chapter. I hope you guys like
it. If you do, tell you friends, if you don't tell me!
"Henna! Wake up! The day begins! As does your work!"
I woke to the sound of yelling. As a young female dwarf in one of the very few dwarven settlements still in existence, i had a lot of work to do. The men, of course, were the forge-masters and smiths. The women....were stuck with the dirty work. Cleaning, cooking, hunting, gathering, dragging water buckets and other tasks to boring and tedious for the "forge masters."
Bloody Hell. I thought as she rose from beneath her thin blanket. Another day. Breakfast was first, then to the well for water to cool the tools the artisans made, then chopping wood for fires, then out to hunt for the day's meat, then bringing the metal mined the day before to the forges, then.....well, it didn't help to remember.
Breakfast was a dried meat strip. I chewed it without tasting it. I grabbed a clean shift from the doorway where it had been put after washing yesterday, and then a heavy woolen cloak bartered from a trader the year before. A crude woolen bucket stood next to the wall. I picked that up as well. I was out the door before the sun had risen over the mountains.
The line at the well was already about ten people deep. I sighed.
Half an hour later I was laden with two buckets and was headed for the forges.
"Thankee, darlin'," said a particularly ugly old man as he hammered at a piece of tin the size of my hand. It looked like a snake that had been ran over by a cartwheel. I could do better than that. I thought.
Wood chopping. Lugged an iron axe and a lopsided wheelbarrow into the thinning forest behind the caves. An hour later it was full and I headed back to town. When it was stacked next to the head smith's I went in search of a spear for hunting.
I brought down a weak buck and dragged that back into my cave for my mother to cook. Next I strode to the mine to pick up another wheelbarrow full of iron scraps and brought that to the forge as well.
Another dozen chores later, most of the village was going to bed. Not me, though. Not really.
I crawled under my blanket and waited for the moon to grow high in the night sky. When it was finally directly above me I slipped quietly about of the cave -well, as quiet as a dwarf can be -and moved to the forge.
The fire was still burning, thank god, and I set to work immediately heating it up. I wanted to work on a project I had started the night before and had hidden beneath the wood pile.
Perhaps I should explain now. My tribe is not one of the well known ones. Sure, we're miners and craftsmen-keyword on the men-but not famous. There are about a hundred of us: eighty men and twenty women. The men support the tribe by forging things that humans need, nails, screws, and wheel axles, nothing special. The women do everything else. But I want more. I'm a better craftsman than many, and I want to practice.
So that was why I was sneaking out of my cave in the middle of the night and skulking through the shadows to one of the forges. I go every few days and pray that the fire in the furnace is still burning. I work on little projects, and then put them in the collective bin. So far, two of my works have been praised by the head forge-master. No one could remember who made them though.....that's usually about the time I escape to cut wood -or, rather, to laugh hysterically in some secluded part of the woods.
The project I was working on now was a tiny swan. I wanted every feather to be perfect, I wanted the arch of the neck just right.
Finally the metal was glowing red-hot. I took it out of the furnace and began to hammer. A moment later the metal escaped my grasp and fell directly on my wrist.
Dwarves normally have a tolerance of fire. I wasn't particularly worried. It would hurt but not horribly.
That was what I thought before it hit me. "Yeoouch!" I screamed. Have you ever heard a dwarf scream? Not pretty. I felt like something else inside of me was crying out too.
I immediately clapped a hand over my mouth. Not quick enough. Only seconds later the forge master had come in dressed for battle, with his battle-axe raised.
I smiled sheepishly. "Uh.....hello, sir," I bowed.
He said nothing, but walked over to where I was holding my rescued swan by a pair of tongs.
"WHAT. IS. THIS." He thundered.
"Uhh...nothing, forge-master." I replied meekly, hunching my shoulders.
"It is taboo for the women to forge. You will be punished dearly." He said, seeming to be in shock.
"But sir-" I tried to object.
"Your trial will be tomorrow." He turned and walked away without another sound.
The trial was the next day. I was banished from the tribe with only a few pounds of dried meat, my worn cloak, a hammer (that my best friends had slipped in to "help me make my way with"), and my wits. I knew I could do it.
The question was......how?
A/N luv ya guys, hope you like this chapter!
"Henna! Wake up! The day begins! As does your work!"
I woke to the sound of yelling. As a young female dwarf in one of the very few dwarven settlements still in existence, i had a lot of work to do. The men, of course, were the forge-masters and smiths. The women....were stuck with the dirty work. Cleaning, cooking, hunting, gathering, dragging water buckets and other tasks to boring and tedious for the "forge masters."
Bloody Hell. I thought as she rose from beneath her thin blanket. Another day. Breakfast was first, then to the well for water to cool the tools the artisans made, then chopping wood for fires, then out to hunt for the day's meat, then bringing the metal mined the day before to the forges, then.....well, it didn't help to remember.
Breakfast was a dried meat strip. I chewed it without tasting it. I grabbed a clean shift from the doorway where it had been put after washing yesterday, and then a heavy woolen cloak bartered from a trader the year before. A crude woolen bucket stood next to the wall. I picked that up as well. I was out the door before the sun had risen over the mountains.
The line at the well was already about ten people deep. I sighed.
Half an hour later I was laden with two buckets and was headed for the forges.
"Thankee, darlin'," said a particularly ugly old man as he hammered at a piece of tin the size of my hand. It looked like a snake that had been ran over by a cartwheel. I could do better than that. I thought.
Wood chopping. Lugged an iron axe and a lopsided wheelbarrow into the thinning forest behind the caves. An hour later it was full and I headed back to town. When it was stacked next to the head smith's I went in search of a spear for hunting.
I brought down a weak buck and dragged that back into my cave for my mother to cook. Next I strode to the mine to pick up another wheelbarrow full of iron scraps and brought that to the forge as well.
Another dozen chores later, most of the village was going to bed. Not me, though. Not really.
I crawled under my blanket and waited for the moon to grow high in the night sky. When it was finally directly above me I slipped quietly about of the cave -well, as quiet as a dwarf can be -and moved to the forge.
The fire was still burning, thank god, and I set to work immediately heating it up. I wanted to work on a project I had started the night before and had hidden beneath the wood pile.
Perhaps I should explain now. My tribe is not one of the well known ones. Sure, we're miners and craftsmen-keyword on the men-but not famous. There are about a hundred of us: eighty men and twenty women. The men support the tribe by forging things that humans need, nails, screws, and wheel axles, nothing special. The women do everything else. But I want more. I'm a better craftsman than many, and I want to practice.
So that was why I was sneaking out of my cave in the middle of the night and skulking through the shadows to one of the forges. I go every few days and pray that the fire in the furnace is still burning. I work on little projects, and then put them in the collective bin. So far, two of my works have been praised by the head forge-master. No one could remember who made them though.....that's usually about the time I escape to cut wood -or, rather, to laugh hysterically in some secluded part of the woods.
The project I was working on now was a tiny swan. I wanted every feather to be perfect, I wanted the arch of the neck just right.
Finally the metal was glowing red-hot. I took it out of the furnace and began to hammer. A moment later the metal escaped my grasp and fell directly on my wrist.
Dwarves normally have a tolerance of fire. I wasn't particularly worried. It would hurt but not horribly.
That was what I thought before it hit me. "Yeoouch!" I screamed. Have you ever heard a dwarf scream? Not pretty. I felt like something else inside of me was crying out too.
I immediately clapped a hand over my mouth. Not quick enough. Only seconds later the forge master had come in dressed for battle, with his battle-axe raised.
I smiled sheepishly. "Uh.....hello, sir," I bowed.
He said nothing, but walked over to where I was holding my rescued swan by a pair of tongs.
"WHAT. IS. THIS." He thundered.
"Uhh...nothing, forge-master." I replied meekly, hunching my shoulders.
"It is taboo for the women to forge. You will be punished dearly." He said, seeming to be in shock.
"But sir-" I tried to object.
"Your trial will be tomorrow." He turned and walked away without another sound.
The trial was the next day. I was banished from the tribe with only a few pounds of dried meat, my worn cloak, a hammer (that my best friends had slipped in to "help me make my way with"), and my wits. I knew I could do it.
The question was......how?
A/N luv ya guys, hope you like this chapter!