it began with a gift; nightfire orbs, flashing fireflies in a jar were given to him and in it all of the world he was not made from was kept serene and preserved.

in truth, it began with the woman who gave him the jar, who said "twitch, i have a gift for you," and explained that he had been in her dream. he thought, "how does one come to be in another's dream?" because the idea that he was not there himself was foreign - not ludicrous.

long since the receipt of the gift the fire flies had been released into a cool summer's night and though he kept the bulky case with him, it was empty and only a shell of itself.

he wondered if his story had truly begun when she had given him the gift or if, perhaps, it had begun long ago and he was only just coming to a point where he could consider himself a separate story from the world around him. for indeed, there had been so many times he stood beneath the trees and wondered how he could be like them, times he placed his fingers to the earth and felt the song of the time, and times he longed for the water and felt it long for him, and he was certain that the case could only be made that world knew him longer than he had known the world.

then there was the ceaseless ticking, the symphonous clacking of fine metal work that etched its song within his breast and ever deep in his mind. what was it and why when he drew breath and stood tall did it grow strong and slow and when he wondered for the people around him did it grow cool and swift'

in any philosophical case, while twitch was considering the many things of the world and his existence he was standing by a nameless pool in a wood he was certain was nameless - though that may not have been the case - and he was sitting in such a way that a question mark might have thought him graceful. looking over his reflection, torn by the darkness and ripples of the surface, he watched the dull shimmer of the light cast by orbs where eyes ought to be scan and shutter as he blinked.

ever against the concert of crickets and frogs and dark-lings did his ticking beat, arrhythmic it seemed, without timing. he wondered if it was due to his wondering and so the hemiola hiccup of clicking continued in its baroque-ish way.

he was covered in dew but he was not soaked, he was beaded by the kiss of the night air on leather and steel where his face ought to have been and on hands and feet where stern oilskin was drawn into clothing. his coat was heavy with the dew but only damp in places of wear and behind him the little clock work wings where shining with stars of their own as the wash-brash held sparkling drops steadfast and almost in ornamentation.

this is how he had awoken, it came to him, this is where he had realized that he could, of his own accord, stand and look at the world and wonder about it. for so long, though he, he had been only a part of the world to be wondered about but then a day came when pushed back against the Will of the world and found that he had a Will of his own. that was where his story began, where the real beginning lie, he thought. before that was obscured in irrelevance, it was naught but like before ones birth.

there was the comfortable sound of leather pulling and the nocturne of night sounds was laid thick with the danserie of clicks from his breast. his wings stretched half an arm's reach and he smiled with his whole person. he was watching, now, in the distance and over the lake, the dancing flashes of nightfire, fire flies flitting about. though not made of the world he was clearly belonging to it.

he was a writer. no - he was a thinker. no - he was a worker of the world around him ....

to wander and to wonder is what he did but was it by design or choice? he pondered as oft he did over the tattered reflection he cast on the moving surface of the little water by which he had slept.

he'd long shaken off the cold of the summer evening and the stiff of a long night's sleep. he did not dream. but he wrote, now, that the morning was blending into the afternoon with a scattered bit of clouds; he compiled his thoughts and dreamed while waking and in an oilskin with scratchy yellow pages he laid them down.

"what cannot be said in seventeen syllables had best not be said."

he remembered the poet's words and thought of them often and tried very hard to emulate their counsel. he was keeping a journal, in it would be found art of various kinds, clumsy sketches and amateur poetry, and that which wasn't art was details of the world around.

he longed to be of it, to be hewn from the forest or carved from the mountain or to carry the same breath of life as the birds and beasts that flitted through the shadow peppered tops of trees. to find a place where he could stand and in the clicking, ticking, whirring symphony find harmony with the world that was not crafted of clock and iron.

with a heavy sigh that pushed through his body and caused what could to rattle he closed the journal and wrapped the little leather thread about and one last time looked upon the surface of the water and the into the shadows of the trees before he was Willed away to places he'd yet to come.

journal - entry 3 a note observations - theory

Reminder: it is most unwise to expect people* to behave as trees.

towards the foot of the page he scratched the meaning of his addendum.

*people will hence forth describe those that are not plainly beasts.

journal - entry 5 the poetics of remembering art - poetry

In Shadow, quiet; Lights, beacons of what has been: What was are mem'ries.

Through Shadow gently Reaching with loving voices, Yesterday, she sings.

Are not shadowed things More than fragments, illusions? In memory, made real.

journal - entry 7 sciences observations - theory

The long history of the world and the Worlds is exhausting, so too is the infinite history of the One Will. Herein shall be separated the world form itself, the One Will into its many pieces, and understanding shall be drawn. This is for One's own furthering, for One's purpose has been obscured and in such analysis should likely be found answers. Thus begins:

Below this small paragraph was drawn an empty circle and to it's right the word "The One Will - All things"

All things are of the One Will - henceforth The Will. It is also true to say that The Will is made of all things, hence itself. It is represented by the circle, as it is endless and embodies everything.

Below this was drawn the empty circle again, on the left, and on the right four intersecting lines, one "+" and one "x". Between them was written the word "Mana - the division of The Will"

The Will divides itself with Mana, the strings of the universe. Between clear manifestations of The Will existence the separations, this phenomenon is the energy of existence, again: Mana. To pluck at the strings of the universe and play harmony or discord is to craft The Will with One's own, to Smith.

On the next page was drawn the circle divided into eight even sections, the marriage of the intersecting lines and the circle. Beside this was written the word "Elements"

The Elements represent the most basic manifestations of The Will. The building blocks of existence, divided and held by Mana, fill up The Will and define it. There are, to One's knowledge, two sets of Four Elements each in all the universe. They are the Cardinal - oldest known - and Subcardinal - youngest discovered - elements of:

x Sky x Fire x Stone x Water ~ x Light x Aether x Shadow x Mind

Again was drawn the circle and lines beneath and all about the circle, where the lines met the edge, were scribbled eight signs, one for each Element. At the top was Sky, an arrow that wrapped in on itself. To the East was Fire, a spiraling triangle; the South was Stone, a spiraling square; West Water as a true spiral. Between the cardinal directions were drawn the other four symbols. Between Sky and Fire, in the Northeast was Light, a long line with a short cross; the Southeast was Aether, a cross with a line also at its bottom; Southwest was Shadow, a crooked cane crossed with a short line; and the Northwest was Mind, a looping triangle.

Beneath was finished,

Elements at ends with one another exist adverse, coexisting with struggle. Elements beside one another exist in tandem, coexisting through cooperation.

Smithing is to act on the lines of Mana between the Elements and draw them to one's will according to adeptness of affect.