Sword of God

A blacksmith in the mountains deep in Japan 1000 years ago forges the "Sword of God" as a monument to the land he lives on with such properity. He sends his son across the world in order to attain the perfect materials for the sword's creation.

The moss-covered statue sat silently atop the shrine. The stream trickled down the mountains slowly as if taking a morning stroll. The birds all chirped in unison to sing their daily song, and the insects busied themselves with their everyday task of gathering food.  As the man kneel there, praying, a group of Momonga scurry toward the statue and all sit before it, as if awestruck by the beauty of the stone Goddess. As the small mammals play on the statue of the woman, jumping on eachother and scratching eachother, the old man sends them away with a simple tap of his walking stick on the ground. It was as if the little younglings knew the man as someone of autority on the mountain. Maybe even as a protector. He knelt back down and apologised to the statue. He reached his wrinkled hand into a pocket of his cloak to take out some bread. He placed the bread in the outstretched hands of the stone woman, bowing as he did so. He took to his feet, and looked at the woman once more. It was as if she felt pleased by his generous offering. He walked away, and as he reached the archway atop the stone steps, looked back at the shrine. The statue was shrouded in the shodows left by the trees and was very difficult to see. He turned back, and began his journey to where the forest met the stream, to where he and his family lived. For miles all he could see was what looked like an ocean of green leaves, pink cherry blossoms and grey exposed rock. The sun appeared as if shying behind the stone hills, hiding from the world. The clouds seemed to be still, not moving at all. It was like they were contempt with their position in the sky. They had found their place.

As he trekked down the mountain beside the stream, birds fluttered between trees and squirrels ran through bushes in such a way it looked like they were following the cloaked figure down the mountain. The butterflies frequented the flowers and the bees followed suit. The fish leapt out of the stream following its path down the mountain. It was like they, too, were following the man. The cherry blossoms fell like confetti on a wedding, greeting the peaceful visitor to the woods. The monkies in the trees all stopped as he walked past. It seemed only he was the one in the wooded area that didn't notice everything stopping, then suddely starting again as if life had stopped and been reborn. The trickle of the water was peaceful. The sound of the stream was sentient and calm as it made its way to the base.

He stopped at a tiny wooden footbridge that led from one side of the stream to another. The fish appeared as nought but shadows that followed the flow of the water as it made its way under the bridge. On the other side of the bridge was an opening in the trees. An arch seperated the trees and they opened up to leave a circle of nothing but grass and stone. In that circle was a tall, wooden house. The roof was covered in ivy and flowers, just like the arch between the trees. Bushes lined the outside, leaving only the doors unblocked. The windows of the house were all open, and animals were scattered throughout the area. He was home. To the side of the house was a stone building. It was small, and had a chimney. Smoke casually floated up into the sky. The stone cut-out of a windown glowed red. The furnace was on. Like usual. The old blacksmith made his way across the bridge sedately and calmly. Ready for work to begin.

The End

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