Swords
Flash Fic Friday
No one knew where the swords came from. They’d always stood there, looming like giant sentinels over the village, stoic and immoveable. Pigeons swooped around the enormous quillions, pale wings catching the early morning light.
Outside the Blacksmith’s shop, Dex carried water and fetched raw iron, peering over the rooftops at the unearthly steel rising into the sky. Sometimes, when the coals burnt low and the shop was devoid of listening ears, the two of them quietly speculated on how blades that size could have been crafted. They imagined what manner of forge could have heated the metal, or the size of the hammer and anvil for shaping the hilts, weighing each word with careful surveillance to avoid getting caught.
The rest of the village didn't understand. They regarded the swords with suspicion, avoiding even the blades’ very shadows as they stretched long over the streets at the end of the day. Children were hushed and travelers’ inquiries about how the weapons plunged into the rock were quietly ignored.
After laying out the Blacksmith’s workspace for the day, Dex began to work the bellows, the image of the colossal swords lingering behind his eyes. The yearning to know the truth ignited into a plan as the rush of air stoked sparks from sleeping coals.
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Hey thanks for the restack, @S. L. Linton !
What an evocative concept! I'm already trying to imagine where those swords came from!!