• "Here you go son, give this to your betrothed when you are older!" Was my first memory as I was handed by a male to his young son, the boy of barely ten gazing into my one inch emerald center in awe. He was just a sprout of a boy, not even a hint of a man yet but he seemed to be trying regardless. "Johnathan, when I met your mother, my father had given me a token long ago that I gave her. It was that ruby ring she loves. When a man meets the one, you just know." He went on to say, his thick, but kind voice almost like a warm fire on a cold and brisk day.

    The child's blue eyes lingered on my curves and delicate metal work, his finger lightly tracing the stone. "Okay Papa, but what if I know wrong?" Was the simple, yet childish question. I was not even a day old, and humans baffled me. Why did the child and the adult both seem to be weakened? Was the forge melting their ores? Were they not created properly? Did the smith not smelt them right? "Hahahahaha! You'll know it John, I promise. And when you know it, nothing will stop you from marrying her." Was the rich reply.

    The boy seemed to take some sort of comfort from this I assume only humans could. Such odd creatures they were, emotions running their lives instead of facts. A woman walked into my view, her long brown hair mirroring the boy's short cropped hair color. "Johnathan? Off to bed, or you'll be without food in the morning." She warned, the boy shoving me into his pocket, and darkness. "Night mother." I heard him tell her, wondering why he needed to show such a soft emotion. Soft meant improper smithing, and that you were likely to break. Why did they all seem like they had been made wrong?