You woke a fire inside of me
The furnace was coming along nicely. Stone by stone the crude structure circled up from the riverbank, mortared in place by plaster mixed from clay and river water. It was small, barely large enough to contain the crucible with its mix of sand and glasswort, but if she had calculated correctly it ought to be enough to raise the temperature high enough for her purposes.
It had taken her the better part of last days afternoon and a good chunk of the morning to find the stones, stack them and gather all the materials needed, but now as Maea stepped back to stretch out her spine, she should be all set to begin. But first, a quick rinse was in order. From fingertip to elbow her arms were splattered in mud and sand and dirt. It dissolved like a gray cloud upon dunking her limbs in the water, and she hummed contentedly while scrubbing it off.
Once she could see the color of her own skin again, she went back to work. Piling wood into the kiln and adding the crucible, she lit the fuel on fire and began to slowly raise the temperature. The aim was to melt the sand and the reagents without breaking the vessel, so that once the material had cooled she would be left with glass. According to the book laid open on her coat a safe distance from the flames this would produce an early form of glass, cloudy and more akin to pottery glaze than the clear substance that first came to mind. It wasn't technically necessary – glass could be made easily enough either as raw material sold by merchants or in panes, rods and beads to reshape to her liking – but Maea wanted to get a feel for the foundational process. The painstaking labor, the skill and knowledge that had gone into forming this craft. And with nothing immediately important to bend her attention to, she did as many had suggested and tried out a new hobby.
Today it was glassmaking. Under the brilliant Flowerbirth sun a roar of fire startled birds into confused silence. Paying little heed to wildlife or the glittering water, Maea's focus was entirely on the color and temperature of the fire, and the minute adjustments she had to make by way of magic to keep it consistent.
It had taken her the better part of last days afternoon and a good chunk of the morning to find the stones, stack them and gather all the materials needed, but now as Maea stepped back to stretch out her spine, she should be all set to begin. But first, a quick rinse was in order. From fingertip to elbow her arms were splattered in mud and sand and dirt. It dissolved like a gray cloud upon dunking her limbs in the water, and she hummed contentedly while scrubbing it off.
Once she could see the color of her own skin again, she went back to work. Piling wood into the kiln and adding the crucible, she lit the fuel on fire and began to slowly raise the temperature. The aim was to melt the sand and the reagents without breaking the vessel, so that once the material had cooled she would be left with glass. According to the book laid open on her coat a safe distance from the flames this would produce an early form of glass, cloudy and more akin to pottery glaze than the clear substance that first came to mind. It wasn't technically necessary – glass could be made easily enough either as raw material sold by merchants or in panes, rods and beads to reshape to her liking – but Maea wanted to get a feel for the foundational process. The painstaking labor, the skill and knowledge that had gone into forming this craft. And with nothing immediately important to bend her attention to, she did as many had suggested and tried out a new hobby.
Today it was glassmaking. Under the brilliant Flowerbirth sun a roar of fire startled birds into confused silence. Paying little heed to wildlife or the glittering water, Maea's focus was entirely on the color and temperature of the fire, and the minute adjustments she had to make by way of magic to keep it consistent.
Maea
