Ilmarinen, the artificer, provides us with grains, salt, and gold inside an iron tenement shelter. We devour the grains with a pinch of salt. The bullion illuminates the dark inside. Outside, the raging Sun maneuvers the flames around its dancing fireballs. Ilmarinen promises to hammer the sky, shape an iron screen. A child throws grains on the thirsting soil. Buried grains sprout to a missing green in a day or two. The air softens; heat mellows down; water emerges in sweeping meanders from the earth. We show up, no longer afraid of dog days and nonliving predators.