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The heat that drives the light

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There was once a small village high in the mountains. It was peaceful and lovely, but in the winters an icy chill settled over it like none other. Most left for the valley then, but the Point Man, village leader, could not. The Forger stayed, too, kept warm by the light of his workshop furnace.

The Forger had longed for the handsome and clever Point Man for many seasons, but could never pass the icy chill of his exterior. One winter, the crafty Forger came up with a plan to put on different faces, that one might earn the Point Man’s warmth.

The first week of winter, the Forger came to the Point Man’s cottage, cradling a delicate red flower from the forest.

“For you,” the Forger said. “I am a gardener, and this is my last autumn bloom.”

The Point Man looked, and said, “I don’t want it.”

The second week of winter, the Forger offered the Point Man an illustrated manuscript, the only one he owned.

“For you,” the Forger said. “I am a scribe, and this is my most prized work.”

The Point Man looked, and said, “I don’t want it.”

The third week of winter, the Forger cast a sword of his finest metal.

“I am a great warrior,” the Forger said. “This sword is from the cunningest enemy I slew.”

“It is beautiful,” the Point Man said. “I don’t want it.”

Frustrated, the Forger resolved to give up on the strange and lovely Point Man. But the fourth week of winter, the Point Man came to the Forger’s workshop.

“I have nothing else,” the Forger said. “Only me.”

The Point Man looked at the Forger, eyes alight in the glow of the furnace, and the Forger felt warmth.

“You are enough,” the Point Man said.