Eyes darker than night stare almost unblinkingly, as if in a trance, as her long, nimble fingers work into the late hours of the night.
She had only but to glance at his hand once, with her expert eyes, to know it's size. She knows she has made her unfinished trinket slightly too big for his fingers. No matter; she will make it smaller. A single cut and then the ends are brought back together and fire held to it until the metal glows. More fire is added and the band begins to take on a more intricate shape.
A chant is mumbled as she works. Fervently, unceasingly, and almost like song. Words of compassion. Words of strength. Words of endurance. She calls upon one who is not mentioned often in the songs her kin. She calls upon the Lady of Pity and Mercy.
The alloyed gold and silver seems to sing back to her in a soft voice that she has long since learned understand. It is her will that has brought the unfinished piece to life and it seeks a mind to sooth, a hurt to help carry. But the enchantment is not whole. It needs another element to strengthen it.
How long has it been since she's been here? A night? Two nights? Or perhaps it has been three nights already? She has not looked outside. She cannot remember.
She lays out three gems before her like a ritual. Emerald. Adamant. Ruby.
Three gems. Three paths to choose from. Her pale hand hovers over them, fingers held loose as she contemplates each one.
Time stands still...
She picks up the emerald.
Her voice strains at the chant and becomes a hoarse whisper. Still she continues on, unceasing. She will not waver. She will not lose sight of her intent. Her father had taught her well.
The wheel spins round and round. Her strong fingers are wet with water. Again and again she turns the gem over. Again and again she brings it upwards to be reflected into her dark gaze. Again and again she coaxes it with sharp implements to take shape.
At last, the shape of a single green leaf lies in her hand.
She does not stop chanting. Her work is not finished! Stone and metal are brought together. Two parts become one piece.
At last! The song she hears is stronger now. It is not as precise as the one she hears from her own trinket, currently held in another's hands. But she is her father's daughter and what she has wrought will serve her friend well.
She falls silent.
She holds the ring aloft and the moonlight coming through the window shines upon it. The emerald seems to glow with a strange light, though it is familiar to her.
"Brenniaer," says she in a tired croak. It is fitting. It is enough.
No sooner than she puts the ring down, she slumps into an exhausted heap in her chair. Her head falls back, her pitch black eyes slip closed, and she allows limbs to dangle.
Her light is dimmed but it will swiftly return to her in the coming hours. For now, it is time to rest.
