Iron
The old metal. What the fair folk cannot cross.
material autumnwinter
Iron is the blood of the earth, the metal of boundaries. The fair folk will not cross it. The dead cannot hold it. It is heavy, cold, and final.
A horseshoe above the door. A nail in the pocket. A cast-iron pan, seasoned with years of use—these are not superstitions. They are agreements.
In Practice
When you need to hold a boundary, hold iron.
When you need to return to your body, touch iron.
When you need to say this far and no further, let iron say it for you.
Notes
Wrought iron holds its charge longer than cast. Old iron holds it longer than new. A railroad spike, if you can find one, carries the weight of ten thousand crossings.