“No, I just want him for the afternoon.” Rob strolled over to the indoor pen where Spike usually snoozed while I worked, and climbed over the fence.

“Just don’t let anything happen to him or Michael’s mother will kill you,” I said, turning back to my forge.

“No problem.” I heard the small scuffle as he cornered Spike and a muffled ouch as he failed to avoid getting bitten. I was pulling the hot iron rod out by the time he led Spike through the gate. He stopped to watch.

I didn’t rush it this time, because I was performing the slightly more complicated job of spreading the point at the end of the rod and working it into a rough leaf shape. Sometimes it took me two heatings to finish the transformation, but I was in good form today. I finished the leaf, plunged it into the water bucket, and drew it out to examine.

“That’s so cool,” Rob said.

“Thanks,” I said. I sloshed a dipper full of water over the rod, to cool the parts that had been above the water line. My good mood was returning.

“I could never do that in a million years. I think you’re so lucky to have a creative outlet.”

I frowned slightly. Rob didn’t usually lay it on this thick unless he had an ulterior motive.

“Something else you wanted?” I asked.

“No—what do you mean?”

From the expression of utter innocence on his face, I deduced that Rob did, indeed, want something, but had decided now was not the right time to ask me.

Just then Spike lunged toward the forge, barking wildly. He hated all large mechanical objects, but seemed to feel a particular antipathy for my forge. Perhaps the faint roaring noise it made sounded like growling to him. We’d built his holding pen after the third time he’d nearly flambéed himself while trying to attack the forge.

“Go find something his own size for Spike to pick on,” I said. As Rob and Spike sauntered out, I thrust the rod back into the forge for the third time. Should I start heating another rod or two? It was more efficient to have several pieces going at once, working on one while the others were in various stages of heating. No, I decided I’d rather work up to a good rhythm before I started to multitask. After all, I had all day. Michael was at the college, attending more of the interminable faculty meetings that filled the weeks before Labor Day and everyone else who wanted me for anything would just have to take “I’m busy” for an answer.

I pulled the rod out, picked up the cross peen hammer, and began the next—and nearly final—step of leafmaking: the precise strokes that flattened the iron and gave the impression of the veining that ran through the leaf. Again, I managed the job in a single heating—I was definitely in good form today. I held up the leaf and was nodding with satisfaction when—