THE PROJECTION OF TRUTH

That autumn, on a crisp evening when the full harvest moon rose over the mountain ridges, Nathan invited Diana to his workshop down the creek.

The forge was glowing with a deep, radiant cherry-red heat. The smell of burning coal, warm beeswax, and hot iron filled the timber building.

Nathan stood by the anvil, holding a pair of heavy iron tongs.

""I wanted to show you something, Diana,"" Nathan said softly.

He pulled a small, glowing ring of metal from the coals and set it on the polished anvil face. With gentle, rhythmic taps of a small cross-peen hammer, Nathan shaped the band, working the metal with the patient, effortless grace of a master.

When the metal cooled, he quenched it in a vat of mountain spring water with a sharp, hissing burst of steam.

He dried the ring with a clean linen cloth and held it out to her in his calloused palm.

It was a simple, elegant band hand-forged from Damascus iron, its surface displaying delicate, flowing grain patterns that looked like the moving water of Esopus Creek, inlaid with a hairline ribbon of native Catskill silver.

""In Manhattan, they give you diamonds to show how much they can spend on you, Diana,"" Nathan said, his deep blue eyes filled with quiet, unshakeable devotion. ""In the mountains, we forge iron to show that we will stand by you through every fire.""

He looked at her, his voice soft and steady.

""Will you walk with me, Diana?""

Diana looked at the ring, then looked up into the honest, unwavering face of the man who had helped her rebuild her world.

Her heart was completely full.