Early Evening on the
2nd of Ioannes in the
Season of Summer
Her friends knew that Iseult blew glass for a living. Not that she had many. She didn't. She could probably look at one hand and count on less than five fingers the people that she thought she might be able to consider friends. Perhaps it expanded a little more than that. She knew people aplenty...it was simply a matter of her actually trusting them and getting past whatever insecurities--and Iseult could admit she had them--prevented her from really acknowledging them for what they are.
So she was determined to make something for those who had stuck by her, especially when she was cranky and argumentative. The gods knew the mood struck her more often than not. She knew she could be difficult to get along with. She knew that. But it was hard to change, hard to push back the stubborn moods that struck her because bending meant that she was weak. No, it didn't. She knew that. But it didn't mean it was any easier to control certain responses.
The glassworks had largely emptied out as the work brightening came to an end. She'd opted to stay late and work when no one else was around--she didn't feel up for getting a lecture from Dunnlevin or some other self-important gaffer about using work time on her own ventures.
Paper in front of her, legs wrapped around her stool, Iseult's fingers curled around a chunk of charcoal...and her mind got to work, fingers twitching as she began to sketch.