The hammer fell, a steady rain of blows, making a music in the night, and by the fuller’s station I did rest, contemplating heaven’s stars. The stable’s smell had wafted near, mixing with the taste of iron ore. The night was cold, but the blacksmith’s furnace warmed my back. I was on the cusp of dreaming.
I admit I was nearly asleep, listening to that mesmerizing chant of steel. So, say you know it was a dream; I say I don’t know what exactly befell me then. Material or immaterial, real or phantasy, whatever mixture of those questions, he passed.
Tale Told 