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[Arahim]

---

Arahim had thought he was dressed smartly, until he actually arrived in Nujel'm city proper.

Though still early afternoon, the shops and walkways bustled with a very understated, unhurried activity.

Sun touched men and women meandered here and there, lost in an indolent flow of commerce, idle gossip, and a vague, unspoken sense of pageantry. Soft whispers of silk, and the cloying scent of a dozen clashing perfumes marked their passing.

Arahim felt perfectly plain, lost in this throng.

Keeping to his course, he turned one last corner and found the shop he had sought. The Jewel of the Isle.

The shop had no doors,as though inviting in the sea air, and sounds of the island. Though he thought it odd, Arahim was set at ease by this, and quietly perused whatever wares were left out for viewing.

A middle aged woman, dressed in less riotous colorings as the women idling the streets outside, approached him gracefully, and nodded a greeting.

"How may I help you, young sir?"

Smiling, almost to himself, Arahim bowed his head politely and replied,

"I am told you do custom work."

[Arahim]

---

Opening his hand, slowly, Arahim revealed a dark ring sitting in his palm.

It's dusky surface caught no light. No fine glitter caught the eye. It's smooth, circular surface held no adornment.

"I would like you to clean this up, and resize it, if you would," he said quietly.

Plucking it from his hand, the lady held it up to the light, and turned it to and fro, studying it itently. A bemused look on her face almost immediately.

"Young sir, I have many rings in stock. Any one of them sure to please. This...well, begging your pardon, but this ring has seem many better days. Many."

"Is the job I ask, not worth your time?" he asked.

Frowning, she shook her head and sighed.

"If this is what you want, young sir, I will do as I can."

Gently interjecting himself between the jeweller and the ring, Arahim directed her attentions to the inner circle, running his index finger along it's circumfrence. All along the worn metal were faded letters, dimmed with time and lost in meaning.

"If you could smooth this away?" he asked tentatively.

Still studying the old ring, she nodded decisively.

Arahim held out his pinky and stated, with confidence,

"Two hairs less thick than this."

Nodding again, the lady jeweller chuckled lightly.

"I see I'll not convince you to simply buy a new one. A more modern style perhaps?"

Smiling politely, he shook his head once.

"Mmm, I see. Alright. Come back tomorrow. Late afternoon," she said.

"Late afternoon."

Arahim turned quickly, and headed for the street.

"Young lord! I can clean this ring up, mayhap make it sparkle, but I will not be able to erase, or even disguise its age!"

Without turning around, and still wearing a smile as though the whole world just missed some clever joke, Arahim stated, very matter of factly,

"The age of the thing is important to me."

[Arahim]

---

Arahim took a winding, circular route back to the Jewel of the Isle. His horse jogging along at a fair pace, and yet the trip took twice as long as necessary.

He noted no sights, or landmarks. Unconsciously ignored any passerby, though his eyes were wide and nearly aglow with thought.

The conversation he had had not one hour ago echoed repeatedly in his mind and touched parts of his being that before it, had been left unfilled.

Every word he had spoken had been earnest, and he knew them to be true, and yet by giving sound to his thoughts the sentiment was given a sharp, pointed reality that surprised him. It was as if these last few months were simply a build up. Shadows to a solid, focused truth that only now turned a corner and could be acknowledged and quantified.

The thought excited him.

The initial trip to this island jeweller somehow seemed a little less odd to him.

[Arahim]

---

Unfolding the small square of black silk, Arahim beheld his newly refurbished ring. The lady jeweller, her hair pulled back in a bun, stood off to his left and watched his reaction to her work.

Holding it gently bewtween thumb and forefinger, he turned the slender circle this way and that. He brought it close to his face, then held it further out as if to see it from all angles. To sight the ring from different proximities seemed a magic trick to him, as it's qualities differed and expanded very close up.

The ring retained it's dark, steely hue, though now cleaned of the misuse of years gone by, it held a subdued gleam that was unmistakeable. If one looked very closely, as Arahim did, the metal was flecked with many tiny slivers of precious gold and silver. Certainly not in any profusion that would make one say the ring was gaudy, or even richly wrought, but it held an understated beauty proudly.

A small smile, that could pass for reverence, lit Arahim's face.

"I am glad you are pleased, " the jeweller said, "The ring, while not made by an artisan, has a great tensile stength to it. Not...unbeautiful, and simple I'd say, but honest work. It is older than I had first believed, as well!"

Laughing pleasantly, she noted where she had smoothed away the old inscription, and asked if he's like something new to adorn it.

Shaking his head slowly Arahim asked,

"If I payed for a bit of your time, and bought from you an engraving tool, would you show me how I could do it in my own hand?"

[Arahim]

---

Eyes straining, and hunched over his desk, Arahim had sat nearly immobile for what seemed like (and was!) hours upon hours. He was bookended by tall candles and rested upon his elbows. The dark steel ring in his left hand, and a slender, pointed engraving tool in his right.

Tiny metal shavings decorated his knuckles like shiny cracks in his skin. The candles, which pulled his shadow long across the stone floor, gave the flakes and powdery residue a faint glimmer that rolled along the bumps and contours of his hands with every flicker.

The work was slow to the point of causing him a mounting, impotent sense of rage. Each imperceptible flick of the tool only created the merest fraction of a letter! Aggravation and a stubborn slant towards the fastidious, lent a feverish energy to his endeavors, but would not allow him the peace, or patience to simply create what it was that he saw, so clear, in his mind's eye.

No. This was a fight.

A high, dull pain awakened very suddenly in every one of his ten fingers as he set the ring and tool down. Taking the cramps as a personal betrayal, Arahim whispered a poetic litany of curses while clenching, then unclenching each hand.

Not for the first time, he wished he had someone to share his secret work with. Knowing that the simplest act of just talking would bleed off a great deal of this bustling, nervous energy that threatened to bubble over into obsession.

Rolling his shoulders, and rubbing his right hand, Arahim set back upon his course, focusing on the finished result that he inexorably dragged himself towards.

As Morning sang her hellos to the world, in splashes of soft yellows and blues, Arahim finished to his satisfaction, and shambled off to bed, more tired than he could ever remember being.

The fight had ended, and it had been worth it.