Deep in the forest, at the end of a long, twisting path stood a small white house. It was here that the elf and the blacksmith made their home. The small white house stood in a clearing in the woods, its thatched roof contrasting with the deep green leaves of the surrounding trees.
Behind the house stood a small shop building made of stone. It was here that the blacksmith practiced his ancient craft, moulding iron into new and useful shapes.
The elf, a tiny mischievous woman was at work in the garden behind the house. She tended all manner of vegetables and herbs there. As befitting an enchantress all the inhabitants of the garden were well behaved and prolific, the plants all growing and blooming in great display of leafy colour. Too soft hearted to pull the weeds she had reached an agreement with the plants and the weeds all grew neatly in the corner of the garden, never daring to invade the other plants.
She gathered a basket of fresh herbs then walked across the dooryard to the shop. She wore a white dress, with a tight bodice and a long flowing skirt. That was all she was wearing, and she was barefoot. She could feel the cool grass between her toes as she stepped across the lawn.
From the chimney of the shop a column of smoke rose, indicating that the smith was at work at his forge. Stepping through the door into the dim half-light she saw him at work, the flames from the fire illuminating him.
She stepped up onto a narrow walkway that went round the wall of the shop. Scurrying along it she took her place on a seat near the only window. Here, curled up, her chin on her knees, she could watch the smith at work. He had installed the walkway and the seat for her, so that she could watch him safely. One day, before her special place had been prepared, she had accidentally stepped on a piece of hot metal, a plug that had been punched from the work on the anvil. She had cried out and the smith had scooped her up in his mighty arms and carried her from the shop. Taking her to the spring he had allowed the cool water to run across the burn on her foot, taking the heat out of it. He held her as she cried with the pain, and kissed her on the head. Shortly afterwards the walkway and seat had been built and the little elf could watch him safely.
The smith lifted an arm to a lever overhead and pulled it down, setting in motion the great bellows that was positioned under the forge. It lifted up, inflating with air, then dropped down pushing its mighty blast into the fire. A roar of air could be heard and the flames of the fire leapt up. His arm moved up and down, and the clacking of the valves in the bellows could be heard as the fire heated the piece of iron in the fire.
The elf sat on her little ledge, entranced by the sparks that flew up from the fire. The smith gazed at the flames intently, watching the iron object there, and judging its colour critically. Suddenly he paused his pumping of the bellows, and a silence descended over the shop.
Tongs grasping the glowing metal he pulled the iron out of the fire and moved it quickly to the anvil. Raising his hammer above his head he brought it down swiftly in a series of ringing blows, the iron bending to his will. He shaped it, moulded it, and twisted it until it took on the form he desired.
Heat after heat he repeated the process. Using all four of the ancient elements; fire, air earth and water; he worked the stubborn iron and bent it to his wil
The elf watched silently. She could work magic with her plants and sometimes even with animals but this alchemy always amazed her. The smith worked hard, his sinewy arms rising and falling, his muscled hands swinging the hammer with a practiced rhythm
The sunlight coming through the window cast a square of light on the floor. The square of light travelled slowly across the floor as the morning wore on.
