Page 125 of Stars in Umbra
Tension fled in his spine as he exhaled, feeling free for the first time in weeks.
He wasn’t sure if he was home, but for the first time, it felt like he could stop running.
The late afternoon sun slanted across the fields, casting long amber shadows as Rina led Mo through the quiet paths of the farm.
The scents of hay, eucalyptus, and fresh-turned earth filled the air, evoking a sense of comfort and healing.
His woman moved with a grounded ease here.
She was barefoot in worn jeans and a loose cotton shirt knotted at the waist, her hair bound in a twist as strands escaped to kiss her cheeks.
They passed the horse barn first, the gentle nicker of animals greeting them from inside. Mo paused to greet one, a curious filly who pushed her nose into his hand. He chuckled, rubbing between her eyes.
‘She likes you,’ Rina said, amused. ‘She doesn’t take to strangers.’
‘I’m not a stranger,’ Mo replied, scratching the horse’s muzzle. ‘Not anymore.’
She smiled, then nudged him onward toward a small structure just beyond the orchard. It had a curved roof and thick windows.
‘Welcome to my sanctuary,’ she said, unlocking the door and gesturing him in. ‘It’s my glass-blowing shed. This is where I disappear when the world gets too loud.’
The air inside was hot and humming, a contrast to the calm farm ambiance.
Tools hung in precise rows along the walls, and a furnace pulsed in one corner with a glowing hearth.
It was quiet except for the tick of steel and the whisper of fire.
‘Remember I told you it’s the one place I can lose time?’ she said, pulling on her gloves and protective goggles. ‘Just me, flames, and breath bringing to life delicate, sacred objects that can be shattered with the wrong touch. The challenge is invigorating, to say the least.’
He folded his arms and leaned against the door frame, eyes gleaming. ‘Show me.’
That grin of hers flickered like mischief. ‘All right then, soldier. Just don’t startle me, glass has a habit of cracking if I move too fast.’
She moved with fluid confidence, stoking the furnace until its glow intensified. She gathered the molten glass on a blowpipe, turning it with a steady hand.
Mo observed with fascination as Rina shaped the glowing orb. She rolled it on the marver, a steel plate, and used practiced motions to coax it into a new form. Her movements were controlled and deliberate as she breathed life into the fire.
Next, she added color in strips of cobalt, gold, and amber. The colors swirled into the molten mass as it spun, transforming under her breath and touch. The glass lengthened, arched, and narrowed until the familiar silhouette of a horse began to emerge, muscular and regal, with one leg raised in mid-prance.
He was silent, jaw tight with awe.
When it was done, she transferred the cooling artwork into a see-through plexiglass container. ‘This cures it and preserves it at the same time.’
Inside the case, the crystal stallion shimmered with trapped light, frozen in motion, its limbs caught between tension and grace.
Rina wrapped a ribbon around the box and held it out to him.
‘For you.’
Mo took it with care.
‘Fokkme,’ he muttered, voice husky. ‘This is precious.’
She tilted her head, teasing. ‘That’s your whole sentence?’
He gazed at her for a beat.
‘You’re precious,’ he growled, then surged forward and kissed her, with scorching passion.
