“Yes, Patrón! It is the bird. Is it right?” And the man looked up with black, bright, waiting eyes.
The smith lifted with the tongs the black, flat, tongue-shaped piece of metal, and Ramón looked at it a long time.
“I put the wings on after,” said the smith.
Ramón traced with his dark, sensitive hand an imaginary line, outside the edge of the iron. Three times he did it. And the movement fascinated the smith.
“A little more slender—so!” said Ramón.
“Yes, Patrón! Yes! Yes! I understand,” said the man eagerly.
“And the rest?”
“Here it is!” The man pointed to two hoops of iron, one smaller than the other, and to some flat discs of iron, triangular in shape.
“Lay them on the ground.”
The man put the hoops on the ground, one within the other. Then, taking the triangular discs, he placed them with quick, sensitive hands, so that their bases were upon the outer circle, and their apices touched the inner. There were seven. And thus they made a seven-pointed sun of the space inside.