Strike While the Coals Are Hot (OPEN)

[mimi]

The cool air was crisp in the lungs as night settled and the stars were allowed to shine down upon the world below. The darkness of night was like a balm to those that wished so tiredly for sleep but it plagued those who couldn't find that blissful escape. It was something about the deep shadows of night that sometimes kept people awake, whether it was because their demons wouldn't let them be or they could not find rest where they lay.

To D'mir, it was perhaps a bit of both. Sleep eluded him in the late night hours and by Pern's moons he could look and see his Dragoness sleeping upon her stone bed. Her deep green hide reflected a bit of star and moon light across her face. Her delicate features limp in sleep even as the twin forks of her tail twitched slightly as she dreamed peacefully. The Master Smith tried his best not to wake her as he arose and put on the clothes that he had set out for the next day's adventures. His soft rummaging, however, did wake her and she sleepily peeled back her eye membranes to look at him even as her eyes whirled with their colors.

My D'mir... Came her sleepy voice in his head. His aged face smiled at her gently, an apologetic look upon his features, as he crept over to her quietly before settling his calloused hand upon the thick of her snout. Her eye fluttered as he hoovered close and gently stroked the span of flesh between her eyes. What plagues you?

Nothing dear heart, it is just sleep that evades me. There were no nightmares.

Good... She rumbled softly as her words seemed to drip with her exhaustion and her fight to keep her eyes open. You know how I worry... Her body shuttered gently as his hand ghosted an eyeridge to coax her gently back to sleep. He reassured her gently that he was only going to work at the Smithy for a bit to tire his body until he could sleep for at least a few candle marks. She begrudgingly consented to his nudging and allowed his hand to lull her back to sleep.

D'mir put on his boots outside of his weyr and began to walk through the scant few tunnels that connected a handful of weyrs to the rest of the Weyr. Thankfully it was not a long walk to the Smithy but it always seemed to grow longer as the years gained in number but at the same time, he enjoyed it more and more.

The Smithy was in a lull as he entered. Most of those that worked with him were asleep for the night save for a young apprentice who was busying himself with a project in the corner. The halflit area gave him away easily and his tired eyes greeted D'mir with their sleepy gaze. The Master Smith went to the young boy and relieved him of his studies when it was obvious that the boy was falling asleep at his station more then he was studying. D'mir then allowed himself to turn to the forge and begin to stoke life back in to the half-glowing coals, adding on fresh fuel and throwing in thick rods of raw metal to be heated and smelted. The billows blew the coals in to a roaring crackle before D'mir put on his thick wherhide apron, donned his gloves, and pulled out the first rod before striking it with the first of many blows. Sparks rained from the reddened metal as each blow struck true, flipping and turning before it slowly cooled until it was thrust in the flames again and the billows churned the heat again.

[Moo]

D'gan stared at the ceiling. It had been more than a few candlemarks since he had retired for the evening, but it was turning out to be another sleepless night. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and sat up, glancing over to the dragon to his left.

"Are you asleep?"

A wave of crankiness washed over him as the large Tiger opened his eyes, the muted red of his eyes still visible in the moonlight. I was trying, but your thoughts are keeping me up.

D'gan wiped at his brow with his forearm. "Sorry...Hey, Mosiliath?"

The Tiger shifted on his pallet, tail thumping on stone as he settled into a more comfortable position. Doriga…D'gan…go for a walk, he yawned. You'll feel better afterwards.

His grogginess fading as he eyed his boots. That's….not a bad idea. Want to come along?

Mosiliath never answered, either asleep or too tired to reply, but that suited D'gan just fine. He didn't want to bother him with more of the same problems, anyway. Pushing back the covers and pulling on a shirt, pants, and boots, he grabbed his riding jacket and set out into the night. There was no destination in mind as he followed the corridors from his room out into the Weyr; he just wanted to walk.

A bright flicker of orange caught his eye. Frowning, D'gan automatically glanced back at the weyrs. When he had left, Mosiliath was still asleep, but had he changed his --

Ssss'not me, D'gan, rasped Mosiliath, picking up on his thoughts.

Sorry. Go back to sleep?

A lack of response gave him his answer. D'gan readjusted the jacket draped over his shoulders, "I guess I'll keep walking."

Turning on his heel, he spied the light coming from the Smithy. It was a place he could point out on a map, and generally knew about it - they made tools there, right? - but he had never taken it upon himself to visit. No time like the present, I suppose.

He entered the forge and took stock of the room. Despite the light of the moons outside, the only light in here was that of the fire. It was a comfortably warm place - though almost too warm - and blackened with soot and ash. D'gan pulled his jacket off and held it in a loose grip, looking about. Was there anyone even here?

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The sharp, clear sound of metal hitting metal nearly made him jump as he caught sight of the source of the noise. Apparently the fire was being tended by an older smith, one who seemed to be avoiding sleep as much as he was. Sparks ricocheted from the superheated metal as the man hammered and shaped away, clearly more aware of what he was doing than D'gan ever was.

Not wanting to disturb the smith, D'gan leaned against one of the walls of the workshop, feeling entirely out of his element and yet, completely at home standing near the heat radiating out of the forge. He closed his eyes for a moment and listened. It brought back the old memory of fell flames, the stench of firestone and char that clung to skin and hide, the hiss of volatile, silver spores in water.

It almost made him wish Thread was still falling. Inactivity did not sit well with him.

When the billows stirred up the hot air, D'gan opened his eyes and focused on the smith. He wasn't familiar with the man, but that wasn't surprising. Ever since he heard about Yuki's child, he had avoided most people - if only to avoid a confrontation about not visiting her. As such, though his rank allowed him to work with a lot of people, he knew only a few personally.

The dull ache in his mouth made him realize he was clenching his jaw. Trying to relax, he straightened up against the wall and yawned, a hand held over his mouth. Though he was tired, he was not about to return to his bed; there, he could not expect sleep to come for a while. He hadn't planned on getting into any conversations tonight, but since the smith was here and apparently alone, D'gan cleared his throat to announce his presence. No sense in standing off to the side and watching like some wherry-brain.

"Uhh, hello. What's that you're making?" he asked, voice raised slightly louder so he, too, could hear himself.

[mimi]

Clang. Clang. Clang.

D'mir's hammer struck hard and sparks flew from the blows as his hand held the metal true. He fell easily in to a rhythm and the tedious work allowed his mind to fall in a lull where he thought of nothing more then where the next strike would fall. Should it be in the same place, further over to the left, higher and to the right? Where did the metal need his care and attention? The billows hissed as great amounts of air rushed through them and burned the coals in to a bright orange as their flames crackled higher in to the air. A layer of soot covered D'mir as he worked and stood so closely to the coals as they burned.

Occasionally he would stretch out a thread of thought to Ginianth to ensure that she still slept. Her sleep was peaceful and he was satisfied with that. It allowed him to be preoccupied with his work. He lifted the tempered piece of metal closer to his face to inspect it and tilted it more towards the light of the flames when he heard the clearing of a throat. He turned his face to the newcomer and allowed a gentle smile to spread across his features as he noticed the air of a fellow Rider. He did not need to see the knots upon his jacket to know that he was a Rider...there was always a swagger or a way with someone who had bonded to a Dragon lifemate.

"Good evening, friend." D'mir said as he straightened his back and rested his project upon the hot anvil that he had been working on moments prior. His wherhide glove brushed across his forehead to brush sweat off his brow but ended up leaving a streak upon his skin. "What I'm working on? Ah...well. I'm just folding this bit right here. I'll probably end up turning it in to a blade. Something akin to one of those over there," he motioned with a gloved hand towards a rack of finished blades, of all assorted varieties and uses. "Probably a ceremonial sword. I am still toying a couple of ideas in my head."