Tales of The Primordial Dawn

The following days saw me caught in a rhythm of routine that was both demanding and satisfying. My mornings began with the scent of the earth as I gathered clay, my hands sinking into its cool, dense texture. The sounds of the awakening tribe, the chirping of birds greeting the dawn, and the gentle rustle of the forest became my morning melody.

With the sun high in the sky and heat dancing on the earth, my afternoons were filled with the painstaking process of shaping the clay into bricks. My hands moved with practiced ease, molding each piece before setting it to dry in the sun's generous warmth. The pile of sun-dried bricks grew larger with each passing day, a visible symbol of the progress I was making. Every so often others in the tribe would help me, but since there was only one mold it was not much of a team effort. Eventually we'd need to make more, but for now I was satisfied with the current pace.

Evenings brought me peace in the form of the people I had grown to care about deeply. There was an unusual harmony between the Wulani and Ashaya, a shared sense of community that was both surprising and heartening. Our conversations around the fire, punctuated by laughter and thoughtful silence, often extended into the night, each of us sharing and learning from the others.

My nights, however, were reserved for my siblings, Maeve and Zulu. Their wide-eyed curiosity and unfettered excitement were like fuel to my motivation. I taught them basic mathematics, using pebbles and sticks, their expressions of awe and understanding lighting up the dimly lit hut. Their quick minds absorbed the lessons like sponges, their questions often surprising me with their depth.

As I looked over the mound of bricks, their earthy brown surface gleaming under the midday sun, I knew it was time to embark on the next phase of my grand plan: the forge. My mind drifted back to the countless hours I spent researching and watching videos of primitive forge construction. Back when I wrote novels set in medieval times, I had learned how to construct a simple forge using clay, a bellows, and a bit of ingenuity.

Now, I was going to put that knowledge into action. The thought was both exciting and a little nerve-wracking. But if we were to truly move forward, to carve a path of progress for our tribe, it was a necessary step.

When dawn broke the next day, I found myself standing before the amassed stack of clay bricks, the whispers of an idea taking shape in my mind. I was going to build a forge. The task was massive, yet the vision in my mind was clear and focused.

I started by laying the bricks on the ground, arranging them in a circular pattern. This was to be the base of the forge, the foundation upon which everything else would rest. Working in the morning coolness, I noticed the bricks felt solid, reassuring in my hands as I started to pile them, one on top of the other. My fingers quickly became caked in dust and grime, a testament to the labor of love I was undertaking.

Days rolled into one another as I continued to work on the forge. The rising sun would find me already engrossed in the process, methodically adding brick after brick. The heat of the day seemed to pulsate around me, but my resolve did not waver. My eyes were often drawn to the sight of the structure taking shape, standing as an emblem of progress.

A crucial part of the forge was the chimney. The exhaust for the smoke, it had to be constructed with care and precision. I planned it to be on one side of the forge, and its creation required a separate stack of bricks. The chimney's structure was slightly more intricate, bricks meticulously placed to create a flue for the smoke to escape. As the chimney rose, I added some flat stones intermittently, providing support and stability. It was a task of patience, the process slow and measured, yet watching the chimney grow filled me with a sense of achievement.

As the days passed, the forge began to take shape. The rising walls of the forge were soon joined by the chimney, the structure standing tall under the wide expanse of the sky. Its almost-completed silhouette became a daily reminder of the path we had chosen, a path of progress and innovation.

The tribe watched the evolution of the forge with growing curiosity and wonder. Their questions and excitement only added fuel to my determination, my hands growing more accustomed to the work each passing day. The children would often come to watch, their eyes wide with fascination, their laughter and chatter bringing life to the construction site.

Each night, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the first stars peeked through the darkening sky, I would retreat to my hut, body weary but spirit elated. My fingers would trace the edges of the brick mold that Yenar had given me, its significance not lost on me.

My heart pounded with anticipation as I stood before the completed forge. A mound of red-brown bricks, standing defiantly under the glare of the noonday sun, it was a project finished after weeks of labor and relentless determination. The finished structure held an imposing presence, a  bold vision I'd nurtured from the start. Yet it felt oddly familiar, like an old friend, bearing the imprints of my hands and the echo of my dreams.

The final touch to the forge was the bellows. A simple, yet essential part of the forge, the bellows would provide the air flow needed to intensify the fire within. I remembered the bellows from the blacksmith shops in my novels, a large leather contraption that pumped air when pressed. But I had no leather, nor the tools to shape it. I had to think outside the box, using what was readily available.

After some trial and error, I fashioned a basic bellows system from clay and bark. The body was a clay pipe, rudimentary in its design, but effective. One end was strategically placed to guide air into the forge, the other end attached to a housing for a rudimentary fan I had crafted.

The fan was a sight to behold. Fashioned from sturdy tree bark, I had carved out fan blades that were affixed to a stick. This was no ordinary stick, though. It had been carved and shaped, allowing it to fit comfortably within my palms and rotate freely. This rotor was housed within a clay casing, positioned just right, so that when I spun the stick, the blades of the fan would whirl, forcing air through the pipe and into the forge.

To control the speed and force of the air, I attached a lever system using two robust sticks and some sturdy vines. By pulling and pushing the lever, I could control the speed of the fan, and thus, the flow of air into the forge.

As I spun the rotor for the first time, watching as the blades whirred to life, I felt a thrill run through me. The system worked. I had created a bellows, a lifeline for the forge.

And just like that, the forge was complete. I took a step back, allowing my eyes to run over the structure. It wasn't just a heap of clay and bark anymore.

As I admired my handiwork, the hum of conversation around me became louder. I turned to see a crowd had gathered, faces creased with curiosity as they studied the forge. The crowd parted to reveal Mako, his thoughtful eyes scanning the structure. Joran stood by his side, his burly form dwarfing the other man.

"So this is what you've been building all this time," Joran said, a smile playing on his lips.

I nodded, chest swelling with pride. "This is the forge. With it, we can smelt copper, cast tools and mold weapons."

Joran's eyes widened. He stepped closer to the forge, his blue eyes assessing it with newfound respect. "And how does it work?"

"Well," I began, gesturing towards the forge. "You see the bellow over there? Its purpose is to provide a steady stream of air to intensify the heat of the fire. The hotter the fire, the easier it is to melt and mold metals."

Mako, who had been listening intently, turned to me. "Can you give us a demonstration?"

I gave a nod, already moving to prepare the forge. "Sure, let me show you how it works."

As I stoked the forge, I sensed a hush falling over the crowd. The sound of fire crackling filled the air, the sparks dancing like ethereal spirits against the darkening sky. As the flames grew, I began pumping the bellows. With each rotation of the rotor, air whooshed through the pipe, fueling the fire within the forge.

Their wide-eyed wonder spurred me on. I felt a surge of excitement as I demonstrated the melting point of copper, explaining how, once liquefied, the metal could be poured into molds.

The demonstration sparked a flurry of questions, all of which I answered with enthusiasm. I was proud to share my knowledge, happy to see their eagerness to learn.

Joran, the ever-curious blacksmith, was the first to step forward after my demonstration. "Can I give it a try?" he asked, his blue eyes alight with excitement.

"Of course," I replied, stepping aside to give him room.

Others from the tribe watched as Joran worked the bellows, the flames within the forge dancing with each gust of air. Their expressions were full of curiosity and wonder. Soon, they too asked for a chance to work the forge, to feel the heat of the fire and the thrill of shaping raw elements with their own hands.

As the crowd dispersed to take turns, I noticed a familiar figure making her way towards me. Kiera, the Wulani woman we had rescued last winter, stood before me. Her eyes sparkled with an enthusiasm that echoed the tribe's. But her voice, when she spoke, held a unique challenge. Her words were mangled, unfamiliar. It was clear she was still grappling with our language.

"Tak... teach... Wulani?" she asked, gesturing towards the forge.

I smiled, appreciating her courage. "Yes, Kiera. We can definitely teach the Wulani how to use the forge. But we only have one for now."

Kiera nodded, understanding my point. She spoke again, the words tumbling awkwardly from her lips, "Velra... craftsman... like Joran."

I nodded. Having another skilled craftsman could only benefit us. "Alright. Velra can be the first among the Wulani to learn."

Word about the forge and my teachings must have spread quickly among the Wulani because the next day, Velra showed up at the crack of dawn, ready to learn. Velra was a tall, strong man with wise eyes and steady hands, perfect for the careful work that blacksmithing required.

And so, the days passed, filled with the glow of the forge and the shared camaraderie of learning and teaching.