After finishing Scrutiny Applied and Buried in Stone, I turned my attention to the third Wattpad story for the month and once again returned to Elara’s story. After seeing how much the series has already evolved, I wanted to steer back toward the original idea for this installment. However, my characters have a life all their own and they refused to be denied. As a result, I sat back and recorded the events of the latest installment in Elara’s life.
The alley had never concerned Elara because of its appearance. The cramped workshops, the aging supports, and the walls patched by generations of craftsmen were simply realities of this portion of the city. Every proprietor along the narrow lane understood that survival depended less on elegance and more on keeping old structures standing long enough to endure another season. Most repairs disappeared beneath newer layers before anyone thought to question them.
Branik’s workshop sat among the oldest buildings in the quarter. The tanner cared little for decoration, and even less for appearances. What mattered was that his tools remained dry and his racks continued holding leather above the damp floors. When damage appeared near the shared wall between his shop and Elara’s, he did not seek a mason or carpenter. He sent for the only person he trusted to understand whether the problem threatened the structure itself.
Elara expected rot, stress fractures, or poor reinforcement hidden behind the patched wall. Instead, the damaged section revealed markings that should not have existed at all. Someone had concealed careful craftsmanship inside the wall long before Elara ever established her workshop beside it.
Excerpt of Buried Memory
The acrid smell of damp earth hit Elara as she reached for the door’s handle. She grimaced, forcing a blank expression across her face as she pulled the door open. Wet leather, old oils, and sour rot assaulted her the moment she stepped over the tanner’s threshold. As her lips drew into a line, she scanned the interior of Branik Holt’s workshop. Among the strips of hide hanging from the beams and the racks full of treated rawhide, she caught sight of the proprietor.
He emerged from the depths as water dropped into a basin with a rhythmic false heartbeat. The steady sound echoed through the cramped shop like something trapped beneath the floorboards. Branik walked past her and shut the door. In time with the click, he pointed at the shop’s rear. “The issue’s in the back.”
Elara tilted her head and studied their common wall. “Your note made it sound like the wall might give way.”
The tanner shook his head as he guided Elara toward the problem. “I understand my trade. Structural failures are your expertise.”
She rubbed her cheek as she followed his silent march into his shop. The two marched through stretched hides and several worktables scarred by countless years of Branik’s trade. When they neared the back of the workshop, she studied the barrels that he’d shoved aside, exposing a section of the building’s bones. The exposed brace was split near the floor, revealing darker wood beneath its outer layer. Dust clung to the fracture as if the beam hadn’t been hidden for decades.
Elara shouldered past the tanner as she crouched beside the opening in the wall. “Did you break the wall or this beam?”
“No,” Branik said, folding his arms as his gaze drifted across the wall. “I shifted one of my drying racks yesterday and cracked the outer section of the wall. After I… exposed the damage, I noticed the markings etched into the wooden beam.”
She rose, claiming a lantern and returned to the fractured surface. She angled the light, highlighting the inscriptions. Elara reached out and traced the lines of the runes. The cuts were shallow enough to disappear beneath pale shadows. When her fingertip ran across them, her eyes widened. She paused halfway as her head whirled toward the tanner.
“Elara, what’s happening to my shop?”
Her tongue slid along her lips as her attention returned to the etchings. “I never cut these.”
“Of course not,” Branik said as he settled into a nearby chair. “Why would you consider those markings your handiwork?”
She placed the lantern on the table and peered at the carved runes. “The style of these markings doesn’t match guild practices.”
“What does that mean?”
Elara pressed her fingertip against the engraved section of wood. “There’s only one guild member who uses such restraint and precision in their work.”
“That would be you,” Branik said, snapping his fingers as his eyes narrowed at the young tinkerer.
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