Olympus 7, the craft of Hephaestus
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Hephaestus had been in the forge all night. The fire had sunk low, and a very fine thread came out from under his fingertips.
It was finer than a spider thread, and held up to the light it could not be seen. And yet when he pulled it in his hands it did not stretch at all.
Hephaestus hung it all round the inside of the room, then walked out of the door as though nothing had happened. “I am off to a far island,” he said.
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