Story Contest: Work of Art - Ruthie N. - 03/28/20

Contest: Winners

Story Contest: Work of Art

Submitted by: Ruthie N., age 14, Garner, NC

The North’s Finest

Two artisan brothers once set out to share their craft. Coming upon a mountain village, they saw traders carrying the finest dwarven ores and minerals, silk paper born of elf song, and pens that drew with dragon blood.

The brothers settled down, and all the town was in awe of their talents. The elder forged gallant armaments, and the younger took to drawing all he saw and all he knew.

During the winter solstice, both were selling to travelers, who came for the fabled north lights, said to paint the sky colors more brilliant than a rainbow. While all marveled at what came from the brothers’ hands, many couldn’t decide whose they favored. The village proposed a competition, and the brothers agreed. From the forge of the eldest came flying fiery sparks. From the door of the youngest, they heard the faint scratching of his pen.

As night fell, both gathered to present their day’s work. The elder revealed a sword, seemingly made of spun silver starlight. The hilt was shining black, set with stones of green and blue. The younger unmasked his drawing, and the dark paper was swirled with the same colors of blue and green, the silhouetted pine trees brushed with shining black, and the mountains covered with snow of spun silver starlight.
Suddenly, the sky exploded in color, the brothers forgotten in the timelessness of the moment. No words could describe the lights that streaked the sky, slicing the night like great sword strokes, drawing the eyes of those for miles.

The brothers then knew not one mortal alive could ever hope to match the beauty that cloaked the frozen world. The lights shone brighter that night than in a hundred years, and nature’s grace inspired magic that stayed forever with the valley.

The brothers spent their days teaching and creating, and the village became known for its art unmatched. I have seen, on the still nights of winter, the fiery sparks of the elder’s forge fly from the mountaintops and have heard the faint scratching of the younger’s pen in the creaking of the pines. 

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