text: The Hearth The hearth above the fireplace at Pewderschmidt’s Department Store was a resting place for the collection of unique objects left there by any and all patrons which elected to do so. There was no criteria, other than to abstain from hoisting a behemoth upon it, even though it’s breadth was sizable, Yfan promoted a sense of scale so unconsciously upon those before him it seemed that whoever had placed the first object, a soul long since forgotten to the ages, and even Yfan himself - or so he says: suspicions and rumors mount to this day - had placed a spell on the ever living wood and all had followed suit to select an object similar in size and space consumption. The item first placed upon the now soot covered grains, which were ostensibly fresh at the time of its placing, yet that was still undetermined as many claim Yfan was not the progenitor of the establishment as he promotes himself, is a small token of an indistinguishable figure, carved from an earthly clay hardened and greyed by a millennia of smoke and grit. The figure kneels, its head raised, a hand facing forward, the other resting on its knee, the outstretched leg counter balancing the straightened arm. Legend has it, one night as one of the heaviest snows hit the countryside, the roof failed and snow, ice, and rain plummeted towards the mighty hearth, the patrons hollering for cover and diving under the tables faced being buried alive in the thousand year storm, yet with a whisper a nearly inaudible voice cracked, and the small token increased in size 100 fold, rose from its knee and pushed the storm back with its broad chest and hips, heaving the weather with a shock of its own, a zephyr whipping up to the clouds. The force of the thrust created a vacuum, and drew in the surrounding timbers, intertwining them in an impenetrable woven roof of trees whose roots stretched down the walls to the soil and strengthened the structure. It was this night that the immortality of this place was enacted. They say the token is a key to the heavens, and the hearth it rests on enchanted by the one who placed it there allows one to pass through the fire beneath it and arrive in paradise. Or so the legend goes. Many a man has scorched himself attempting to access the fiery vessel only to return engulfed and choked, yet strangely no creature has ever been burned by the eternal flame. Yfan himself is said to have placed an object on the hearth yet over the years the living tend to blend together in the eyes of eternity, a sea of unique and unified consciousnesses heaving and flowing like an ocean, it’s currents hidden beneath the surface, directing it and cloaking its purpose, and since Yfan himself fails to admit what it may be - if anything - and generally smiles and feigns dutiful in his own excusing if queried, eternity is left silently winking at us - but probably not at Yfan. The most recently placed item was put there by a small boy passing through with his grandmother. Both on their way to the theater in the city, and needing respite and taking some winter bread and cheese into their stomachs, their horses being cared for by Polty the stable hand, Yfan approached them with the tradition of Pewderschmidt’s Hearth. The grandmother, showing more interest in engulfing sour crumbles and rips of bread, fished in her purse and pulled out a tied leather pouch and handed it to the boy. He poured the contents out before him and climbed upon the table. He began to sort the arrangement of Knick knacks that fell to the gouged planks. By what standard Yfan could not tell, and the grandmother was occupied too much to give notice if she had any clue herself, so Yfan sat and watched. The boy would move the same piece, placing it next to one other, then another. He’d hold two up to the fire, a shiny sitting on the hearth catching his eye or both, his gaze altered momentarily before focusing back on his task. When he’d selected the one he wanted, he turned to Yfan and handed it to him. Yfan put his hands behind him and bowed before the wood carved gorilla. The boy pointed to his chest and held the figure up. Yfan understood the boy had made it himself. Yfan smiled and directed the boy to place it upon the Hearth. The child hopped off the table, his suede moccasins wrapping the wooden floors as he walked slowly to the monstrous hearth that towered before him. The boy looked to Yfan for assistance, but Yfan simply gestured elegantly towards the hearth, leaving his hand hanging gingerly before the flames. Tendrils of smoke snaked out from the fire pit and wrapped themselves around the ankles of the boy. Slowly his soles lifted from the ground and he rose towards the hearth, his hand outstretched. He placed the gorilla next to a smooth stone and brass fork green with grime. the smoke puffed and a single flame leapt out and enveloped him, and retreated to the roaring embers beneath the hearth, taking the boy. Yfan bowed toward the grandmother, a smile in his eyes. The grandma looked up for a moment, pointed toward the cheese plate, and took a gulp of honey milk. Yfan nodded and retreated to the pantry for more cheese.