Gemotions

The scent of burning metal and the rhythmic clang of the anvil filled the workshop. His son, Marcus, had never given a second glance to Mark's blacksmithing hobby, now it was consuming him. Mark stared at the scene, feeling as if he was looking in a warped mirror.

He’d always enjoyed the heat, the physical challenge, and the creation of something tangible. He found Marcus, sixteen, hammering away with a focused intensity Mark had never seen.

"Careful with that hammer," Mark blurted out, the words sounding harsh even to his own ears.

Marcus paused, then gave a curt nod. "Yeah, Dad."

Mark retreated to the garden, the sound of the metal echoing in his ears.