It’s a picture.
The sweat smudges her makeup, but not her brilliance;
She glows.
Hammer in hand, she bangs away at her anvil like The Repairman whose role she’s adopted.
No one in the village believed she could build this forge, much less get it operational.
A little bit of starshine goes a long way.
Mère Lune lights her way, with Père Soleil’s support, while her sisters whisper instructions in her ear.
Ultimately, it shall be her own heart that will be called Guidemaster.
All watch her progress without the use of eyes, beaming their approval.
A worked-stained grease monkey, reeking of tribulation & hard labor, she’s never been more radiant.
Smiling, nodding.
Things are coming along nicely.
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