He scribbled again on the page, smiling wistfully to himself. The room was dimly illuminated by candles on strategic places on the walls and the brightest light came from the only electric lamp on his desk which shone onto the page as he wrote.
I watched him jealously as he smiled again, dabbed his pen on ink and began writing.
The scratching sound of the pen's tip on the page grating on my ears, the poor lighting of the bookhouse unnerved my mind and the heavy smell of wax and ink aggravated my nose.
The Wordsmith's apprentice was in a considerably miserable mood.

"Quite remarkable" He said with a soft voice.
My head snapped up from the book I was staring at, its words stuck on the pages, unwinding to flow out.
"A bright white light, enough to light a whole room, all from this small bulb. Miniscule in size but maximal in intensity."
"It's just a bulb sir." I said to him drily.
"Indeed it is just a bulb, yet it has helped me view even the smallest of fonts in this book, aided me in looking through the enveloping tunnel of ignorance and finding enlightenment." He smiled at me, his tiny eyes twinkling.
"It may be just a bulb, but what a bulb it is."

I looked at the lamp who sat there basking in all my master's praises and glory.
It was a rather drab contraption, an old make, stained metal, rickety frame but at least a bright bulb, yet I guess in contrast to the dullness of this room, anything else would be considered bright.

"If your face should become any more sour, they may think I force fed you a lime."
Immediately, I vanished my frown and stared at the book more intently.
"Look up boy, I know you're not really reading it."
"You don't know that." I retorted defensively
"Indeed I do. Your posture and countenance tells me so, yet the deciding factor in my conclusion is the fact that you're holding the book upside down."
I felt my face get hot in embarrassment as I righted the book and closed it.
"Why.. That has to be the most color this room has seen in ages." He regarded my face laughing.

I kept silent as my embarrassment grew.
"I take it, you don't like Wordsmithing very much."
"It's.. It's not what I expected, Sir." I said, suddenly nervous to talk about my misgivings when asked about it directly.
"Hmmm and what did you expect?"
"Wordsmiths are legends. The King says without you, the Kingdom would fall. The ardents all say that the calling to be a wordsmith is one filled with honor and that all wordsmiths would be at the right hand side of the Almighty."
"I fought hard to be your apprentice, learning lessons and reading books, not expecting to finally get the job and.."
"Learning more lessons and reading even more books. Shut away from the rest of the world then left only to the whimsical voices of your thoughts?" He interrupted and completed my thoughts.

He laughed then, his long beard and old frame shaking with each guffaw so much that I feared he would slip and fall.
"I've heard what others think about wordsmiths, now I want to hear what you think."
"I... I don't know what I think." I said downcast.
"I'll tell you what I think.” He said dropping his pen and turning his seat to face me.
“Wordsmiths are quite great. Even greater than kings, knights and radiants. Greater than the strongest man and the fastest runner.
Ours isn't a greatness bridled by the physical realm. Ours is one bridled by only the imagination. In short, we wordsmiths are only one thing."
"We are creators of worlds."
He stood up then swung his arms, his robes creating air currents which blew gently on the candles, snuffing some out and bending the flames of others. Making the shadows grow taller and more eerie.

"Every book seen here is a world of its own. A world created by one person and whose habitat is open to all who reads it.
The world has only one true god. The wordsmith who created it."
I looked around at the books now, my perspective changing as I took in my master's words.
"The wordsmith is in charge of death and life in that world. Every small detail, given upon his will, yet his world can be criticized and can be lost. And in the same way, his world can greatly influence this World."
"What, my dear apprentice, do you think is a story?"
I was shocked at the sudden question.
"Something a wordsmith creates?" I said in a fit of answers.
Immediately it came out, I regretted my unintelligent response.
"A witty answer." My master said laughing.
"Stories are the foundation of humanity. The foundation of understanding of a world, of ourselves. Without stories, Man is nothing. No culture, no religion, no morals, no purpose, nothing different from animals."
Stories are worlds we as wordsmiths create. They give man context, give man a love to fall back on when life is cruel. They give men hope."
He took up the lantern from his table. Walked over to my stool and collected the book I had dropped.
The lantern showed light on the title. "The Worldsmith"
"And hope my dear boy... Is the greatest light of all."

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