Forgraves, a little belatedly, noticed 2 things.
One, that he still didn't have a solid handle on WALKING, which make the few hour long trip to leo a nightmare. he kept tripping over his own feet.
Two, that, despite all he's done for him, forgraves did not know much about the blacksmith, and vice versa. When the thought of what he was gonna make him for, like, FOOD, for the DINNER he wanted to do, came up, he realized he had no clue what the Blacksmith would want, or even enjoys. DOES he eat? he never sees him eat when he visits.
So, he figured before heading out, he'd go and ask. no harm, right? and it's not like it'll reveal the surprise or anything.... would Blacksmith like it to be a surprise? maybe he could ask. would that make it obvious he was planning one? or worse, would it sound like a thinly veiled threat?? forgraves, for all his self improvement, will always go through about 12 different worse-case scenarios before concluding it will probably be fine.
He's not surprised Bebby comes back sticky every time she visits leo aswell, because it is HOT. maybe its the extra physical effort going into staying upright, but he swears it wasn't this hot last he came here. maybe he was too busy bleeding out.
As he stepped foot into the workshop, shakily albeit, he called out. "Blacksmith?... Are you home?"
"Speech." Thoughts.
The Blacksmith had been branching out, a little.
Alongside the weapons and armor lining his racks, there were now a handful of tools: a shining shovel, a scythe, a hoe and a trowel. There were also a few pieces of what might in a generous moment be termed 'art:' a curled tower of twisted, partially rusted metal strips, a little horse made of scraps, and so on.
No one had come to make demands of his service, and though he still ensured the armory was stocked, he was expressing himself, just a little. As he had in seeding this place as a garden.
So when Forgraves entered the sweltering workshop, he would find the distant Blacksmith hard at work forging what looked very much like a rake. Hammer was clanging, his cloak flapping a little with movement and hot air. He paused only briefly, half glancing back, before calling out: "Forgraves..? Is that... you? Please, come... in..."
His slow, rasping speech pattern had not changed; his voice was as kindly as ever, but he did not stop his work. This rake had to be done perfectly, and pausing to let the metal cool before it was fully shaped might ruin it.
@Forgraves
When you spend enough time in a place, whatever racket you might hear probably becomes much more bearable over time, and he notes this is the case with satisfaction at the familiar clanging of the Blacksmith's hammer.
"Yes, hello, my friend! hope i'm not intruding?" he said as he fully turned the corner instead of poking his head in, tilting his head at the wall of tools with intrigue and awe.
"My, he's kept himself busy, hasn't he?" he thought idly. the craftsmanship was quite impressive!
he briefly wondered if the man would have time for such things, with all this work he seems to be doing. though, he admits, he doesn't quite know what his job is aside from making these things. he's surely mentioned it before, making things for others, but whom he's unsure, or if this is just a hobby he's indulging. either way..
he'd sit a ways away from the action, trying to keep out of the path of any materials or tools the blacksmith may need. the last thing he wants to do in the man's own home is be in the way.
after a few moments, he'd speak again. "i do not mean to interrupt your work, i can come back later if you wish?" he'd say, as soon as it seemed the blacksmith would pause for a moment.
"Speech." Thoughts.
The voice came gentle, reassuring: "No, not at... all, my friend..."
Clang, clang, clang.
After a moment the Blacksmith paused, and turned to peer toward Forgraves. "Please, come in. You have-..." He trailed off, blinking. "...two legs," he finished, at last.
His head tilted to one side. He knew the dangers that could befall Gembounds. He'd seen Forgraves suffer harshly enough once, already. Had the little fox been wounded again-?
"Did something happen?" he asked at last, worriedly quiet.
@Forgraves
He appeared to have forgotten that Blacksmith might not expect his new appearance aswell, among other things.
"Oh!" he exclaimed. "no, no, not at all! or, atleast, i don't.. think so? i just kinda... fell asleep, i think." he said, mulling it over. "woke up like this. i think it was stress? i've been awful busy..." he hummed.
he HAD been denying himself sleep, which he admits to himself with only a bit of shame. he recounts the cup of tea that had long since been abandoned and tossed out by the time he awoke would've been his 6th that night.
"but, ah, no, nothing immediately dangerous occured that i remember. awful convenient timing though." he mused with seeming satisfaction with his predicament. he figures others might be more unnerved by the sudden change, but he figures atleast he's taller.
"what... ah, what about you, friend? i hope you've been alright aswell? i wished to check on you, if you don't mind the company. it has been a while since we have spoken without.. yknow, immediate danger or injury present."
in his head, he scolds himself for being so bad at small talk. the blacksmith had already invited him in when asked. he's doing his best, he scolds himself again.
"Speech." Thoughts.
The Blacksmith set aside his tools, shuffling over toward Forgraves. The rake would need retooling, but that didn't matter so much as the Gembound.
"Stress," he murmured, parroting it. Something he knew all too well. He considered, looking off toward the exit of the workshop. Then he looked back down, considering, studying Forgrave's now handlike forepaws.
"I am well. I welcome... your visit. But... I have something... I could show you. Could you come with me?" he asked. Slender fingers reached for Forgraves' shoulder: he tried to gently turn him toward the exit, and then lead him back down the tunnel.
@Forgraves
Forgraves bites back the slightest protest at Blacksmith abandoning his work, but the words die on his tongue, leaving him to snap his jaw back shut as the man parroted the sentiment. yes, stress. he... he figures, idly, that maybe he shouldn't be that stressed doing something that at the time seemed so simple, but maybe it'd been building up.
he tilts his head with curiosity, following the Blacksmiths gaze.
"I am glad to hear it.. and.. of course! lead the way" he chirped with soft delight, letting himself be redirected, only mildly stumbling on his feet, catching himself before he feel for the 100th time today.
he'd go wherever the Blacksmith would take him.
"Speech." Thoughts.
There was a light, absent pat of the shoulder, the way a grandfather might pat a grandchild as he shuffled past. Then the Blacksmith was leading the way back through the sweltering volcanic rock, and into the bright light of Leo.
As he walked, he talked. "I do not know... what burdens you, and your kind... bear." He could imagine, of course. Survival was always its own sort of challenge; and the place they had been born into was never meant for them. But how did they cope? It was only now that he realized that they had never had teachers for such things. Mentors, or role models. "And I do not know..." he continued, "if you are still... under this pressure. But I had thought... to show you something... that I have, that I... do, to help."
Rather than head out toward the shore, he turned, picking his way onto a narrow path. This path was barely visible as it cut through the thick undergrowth. "It is good... to set time aside... I think. To set time to... breathe." He smiled, a little.
Up ahead, the path opened into a flat, clear area. It was not an immense space; more like a little garden, tucked away behind the trees. It was vaguely rectangular, bordered with old driftwood laid loosely along the ground. Benches crafted from more driftwood stood on the far side and to the left. The space itself, though, was interesting: it looked like white sand and small gravel stones, combed so that it seemed almost to be the waves of an ocean. Here and there, little islands of moss gave way to worn, craggy little stones that stuck up like cliffs and sea stacks.
It seemed almost like a miniature landscape, even a miniature Leo: islands and sea, nestled away in this hidden garden.
The Blacksmith shuffled to a bench, and lifted a little white comb on a stick. He turned, offering this to Forgraves. "There are many ways... but this is one of mine. Try... if you like. To shift the sand... into new patterns. As I do... when I need time... to think."
He smiled.
@Forgraves
Forgraves would note silently to himself, regarding the gentle pat with familiarity, a similar gesture as to banshy, silent but kind, comfort in small ways that with time meant so much.
he would listen, and as they exited the workshop and tunnels and ventured back to the warm sand and lush greenery, he'd ask himself lightly if he had done something to deserve such kindness. maybe it says something about his expectations of the world around him that the mere offer of something to make it easier is thought of so highly, but it brings him warmth nonetheless. he doesn't voice this quite yet, however. he gives the blacksmith a look of surprised gratitude, much like a child hearing of a kind deed being done for them.
When they veer away from the shore and through the undergrowth, he looks to the blacksmith once more before his eyes settle on the hidden sanctuary.
his jaw seems to drop slightly, open mouthed wonder as he tries to decide where to step as he notices the waterlike swirls in the sand, not wanting to ruin its craftsmanship.
"I-... wh-.." he started and stopped, looking back and forth to the man, eyes scanning the entirety of the garden, eyes lingering on the plants and the mossy stones and the patterns in the sand and back to him. "oh my stars, this is incredible! hah- how did you..." he finally breathes after a time, trailing off.
he seems a tad startled as the comb is offered to him, momentarily distracted once again by something else in the space. The blacksmith is given another look of surprise, and Forgraves seems to hold the comb like a precious thing for a moment, close to his chest and eyes cast down to it.
he would smile moments later, however, open-mouthed and joyous."..thank you, my friend" he would say, before he would shuffle to one of the stones, careful not to kick anything over or ruin the moss, trying to find the optimal spot to start.
he would sit there for a few minutes. he was much smaller than the blacksmith, and large sweeping motions were not his forte, so he settled for small, swirling patterns in the sands surrounding the rocks, like the bands in malachite, using the corners of the comb for smaller patterns to balance out the larger ones.
as he did this, he seemed... happy, for one. and for another, he seemed calm. his shoulders lacked a tension they arrived in as his mind focused on the stand in front of him. he would look back up every so often, to ensure he wasn't doing anything, well.. wrong. but he would speak again eventually.
"how did you come up with all this?" he'd ask. "I don't think ive seen anything quite like it before..."
"Speech." Thoughts.
How had he come up with it? How to condense hundreds of years into a single statement..? The Blacksmith moved to one of the driftwood benches, settling in as he considered his answer.
"It was something... a friend showed me, once... long ago. As I... show you now. It is... simple enough to create," he went on--because he assumed that the half-asked 'how did you' would have continued with 'make this,' or 'do this.'
He gestured to a couple of what might have at first looked like tiny bushes growing from the miniature 'islands.' "Those... are harder. They are little trees... grown but kept... in miniature." Bonsai--they'd been far more carefully tended than the island rocks pushed into the sand.
He watched as Forgraves worked, watched the smaller shifts in the gravel, and smiled. The loss of tension in the fox's shoulders wasn't lost on him. He kept on speaking, gentle, keeping his voice to a background murmur. Overhead, a few little reddish leaves from an overhanging tree--something like a Japanese maple--fell loose and drifted down around them.
"The idea... is that it is a landscape. One that you... may lose yourself in... for a time. I give myself time... to breathe, here. It is as it was... when I reshaped Leo." When he'd seeded it with greenery, spreading the jungle, carefully tending it just as he now tended this tiny garden. "It is easy enough... to make one of your own, at home... if you wish. But you mustn't... worry about... making it 'correct.' Or 'right.' You move it... as you see fit... whenever you like. For whatever feels good... in the moment."
That was the core of it, really--at least for the Blacksmith. To enjoy something ever-changing, to lose himself in its impermanence, despite how long the garden and the stones lingered. Each time he came, he shaped the plants, or moved an island, or shifted the ripples in the sand. He lost himself in the garden. Perhaps now Forgraves could do the same.
@Forgraves