God Of Crafting

Chapter 88: It's not a grass-cutting kind of a Scythe

"Tim!"

Claire's voice was the first thing I heard when I regained consciousness…

No, when I've finally grown too tired to keep maintaining the agitated state of my very own spiritual core.

"Huh?" Startled, I took a step back only to see a pile of pairs of wooden blocks… Now perfectly sanded down to the round shape I imagined them to be.

But that wasn't all!

With the strings that held each of the pairs now gone, I could only assume that I'd already glued the pieces together, which only served to pose one hell of an important question.

"Did I fill them in?" I accidentally asked out loud, too startled to control what was just the voice in the back of my head and what I actually spelled out loud.

"You are finally back…" Claire's greatly concerned voice finally pressed me to look away from the sanding machine and at the girl, whose extremely worried face only served to drive the point home.

"Shit…" I cursed as I nearly stumbled down on my feet.

Now that I could no longer use my spiritual energy to keep my body going, all of the burden of my physical exertion was now just for my flesh and bones to bear.

"Tim!"

Seeing me collapse down to the ground, Claire rushed ahead, kicking away various tools and ingredients that were on her way as she jumped to my side to grab my arm and stop me from falling right as my head came dangerously close to a sharp corner of one of the many machines in the workshop.

"I did it again, didn't I?" I've muttered under my nose, struggling to even breathe properly.

"What did you do again?" Claire, despite the great agitation visible on her face, somehow managed to keep her voice calm if not outright soothing as she quickly moved from just holding me up to actually cradling me down within her embrace.

"Oh right," I muttered weekly as I had to put all my focus on remaining awake now that I actually had to deal with all the exhaustion of crafting for what felt like an entire day if not more. "I'm not sure if I mentioned it before but the gist of it is…"

I hesitated for a second, not really sure what was the best way to approach the topic.

"The gist of it is, there are times when I lose track of myself when I craft?" I suggested the answer, not really sure how else I could put it into words to make it even easier to understand without going into a prolonged lecture over my unorthodox circumstances.

"And you end up in a state like this?!" Claire's voice grew both louder and more agitated, proving she was now getting into a state where she simply couldn't hold her emotions from affecting her voice.

Yet, despite the clear blame for recklessness, I could hear in her words… For some reason, her new, more agitated voice ended up more soothing than when she kept her emotions in check before.

'Is it because it's the rare instance of someone actually giving a crap about me?' I thought, only to then fight the desire to bite down on the imaginary lips of my brain. 'Shut it, man. Your parents always cared for you so why are you acting all like some tragic heroine now?!'

Gritting my teeth, I took a deep breath… Only to end up accepting Claire's hospitality and resting my head down on the most divine pillow on her chest.

"Honestly, it's the first time I ended up so tired after getting into this kind of focused state. Which," I squinted my eyes as I noticed the obvious discrepancy in the logic of what happened, "is quite weird, given how it should be easier for me to handle it now that I actually have proper spiritual energy, don't you think?"

This question was stupid.

What was Claire supposed to think when she only knew some small bits about my weird situation?

In the end, however, I didn't really expect Claire to answer and treated my words as just me talking to myself in hopes of getting an easier time processing my own thoughts.

"That's…" Claire wrapped her hands over my chest as she secured me in her lock before hugging me tightly.

Judging by the slight sound and feel of her hair brushing over my sweaty shoulders, Claire shook her head.

"I'm sorry, but this doesn't make any real sense to me either," she admitted before closing her arms over my chest even tighter. "But… But what were you trying to do to get yourself so ungodly tired?" she asked, her voice indicating she was already on the verge of letting her tears just flow.

"A handle," I answered without a hesitation as I raised my eyes to the sandpaper-roller machine or whatever professionals called it now fully covered in sawdust from the precious tree I deduced from the wood chunks to make them into the shape I desired.

"That's it? A handle? For that scythe you mentioned?"

Despite being on the verge of tears just a moment ago, Claire's voice now changed along with the intensity of her hug growing even further, revealing just how baffled she was by my words.

"Wouldn't a damned stick suffice?!" she then cried out as her emotions bounced right back and took their rightful spot momentarily occupied by the surprise.

"It surely would if all I wanted was to make a scythe to cut the grass with," I answered before relaxing just a little bit further as the gentle warmth and softness of her bosom combined with the care-born hurt in her voice combined into the sweetest and most soothing lullaby a man could ask for. "But I was trying to create something right at the limit of my current ability and creativity.

So rather than just a grass-cutting scythe…"

My consciousness started to waver again as Claire's embrace now only amplified the effects of my ungodly exhaustion.

"I'm making a scythe great enough for your father to hold without shame."