Breeding the Bang Bench: Leahs Turn

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The morning sun cast long, golden fingers through the dusty windows of the old workshop, illuminating swirling motes of sawdust that danced in the still air. Leah ran a hand over the rough-hewn maple, her fingers tracing the elegant curve she had sketched on its surface just days before. This particular piece, known in the shop as the Bang Bench for its stubborn refusal to be assembled correctly, had bested every other apprentice. Her task was to join two opposing legs to the central pedestal, a feat requiring immense precision and a gentle touch. She selected a finely-toothed saw, its blade catching the light with a soft gleam as she began the delicate work. Each cut was a whisper, a tiny plume of fragrant wood curling away from the sharp steel. The scent of fresh-cut timber and drying oil filled her senses, a perfume of pure creation and focused intent. She then reached for a wooden mallet and a stout block, carefully positioning the first leg against its mortise. With a series of firm, controlled taps, she persuaded the joint to close, the wood groaning in quiet submission. A slow smile spread across her face as she felt the pieces slide together with a satisfying, final snugness, a perfect union of form and function. The bench stood solid and square at last, a silent testament to her patience and skill.