Sorry its so long! i got a bit carried away, and before i knew it it had taken control. Hope you enjoy it! (P.s: if you know the makeup brand Avon, forget about it. I made up this name by reading Nova backwards before i'd ever heard of the brand!)
Avon wiped sweat from his forehead and plunged the burning iron into a bucket of ice water, a smile pushing through his weariness and showing on his face. Steam enveloped him as the opposing elements met, clashing together to forge a blade. Avon stood, his rugged shirt drenched with sweat, in a small forge. Flames lapped at the air, and the noise of hammers echoed throughout the room. He waved away the steam and drew the blade he had doused in water out. Still a faint red glow could be seen in the center, and it was still quite warm to the touch. Avon slipped on leather gloves, and brought the blade to a table, where a circular stone sat spinning away. He sharpened it until the edges resembled that of a knife, and the tip curved to a point. Holding it up, Avon looked at his reflection; his fair face was red with heat, and his short blonde hair was ruffled and messy with sweat. His green eyes seemed to twinkle with excitement as he carefully fingered the blade. This was his own sword; crafted entirely by him. He had found and gathered the metal, he had hammered it day and night, forged it, and now sharpened it. Even the handle–which Avon was now fitting the blade into–had been crafted by himself. It was made of oak wood and iron, carved by his own hand into an elegant hilt. Avon fitted the blade into the hilt and fastened it. Finally, a year after he had accepted the towns blacksmith's offer for part time work, he had made his own sword. Finally he had his own weapon, and finally he could leave this town. Avon stepped out of the forge that filled with accomplishment. The night was young, and the of the town empty. He absentmindedly cradled the sword, which sat in its leather sheath on his belt as he walked home along the streets. His home was squished in between two other houses, which were all squeezed together on a narrow cobblestone street. That was one of the many downfalls of living this close to The Kingdom, where King Amon lived, you had no space to your own. Avon spat at the thought of King Amon. /Arrogant/ he thought bitterly. /Living a life full of money while those in his domain starve and struggle to survive. And any that accept work from him are caught in his web./ He let out a breath, thinking of his father, who had endangered their whole family by accepting work from the King. Now King Amon could track them and force his father to work or pay extra taxes. Avon turned down an alley, and up a small crumbling flight of stone steps. He pushed through the door and into his house. "Avon." A man with a grave expression stood, his face shadowed in the dim candlelight. Avon turned away. The man looked down. "Avon please, i-i think you should leave tonight. I've readied a horse." Avon looked up in wonder. He had thought–if anything–that his father would stop his plans to leave in the morning. "A horse?! How-" "It's not much, just, go. I love you Avon." he wrapped Avon in a hug, who hesitantly leaned into his shoulder. "I'll miss you..." Avon said, before disappearing into the side room to pack. "Say goodbye to mom for me, will you?" Avon said quietly. His father nodded reply. They stood together awkwardly for a moment, the candlelight making their faces bend and warp. Avon headed out the backdoor, a bundle of his only belongings in hand, and mounted the small beast his father had collected. Down the cobblestone alleys and side streets he went, the only sound his breathing and the soft clip clop of the horses hooves. He quietly said farewell to all he knew; his family, his home. And all he loved, though small. Avon disappeared into the blackness of the night, a sad but excited smile on his lips, ready for a new life.
