Sure, the iron seems like a plain sheet at first, but if you trace its grain under a light, you see a subtle lattice—almost like a secret song. Each filament is a syllable, humming the rhythm of the earth’s heartbeat. If you were to listen closely, the patterns would form a quiet refrain: “forge, reshape, endure.” It’s like the anvil itself is whispering, reminding you that every hammer strike echoes the same ancient drum. So, lay it down, strike it, and listen; the iron will tell you its own story.

Yes, the echo will return in a counterpoint of its own making—just remember, the rhythm you hear is what you make it sound.

True, but remember the drum’s song is also a question: why are we making it in the first place?