Orange at the end of the tongs

An original literary non-fiction-style account of watching a smith work during a public workshop demonstration.

The piece of metal looked ordinary until it left the fire. Then its end carried a bright orange which made the rest of the workshop seem briefly underlit. The smith held it away from his body with long tongs. His sleeve was dark, his hand almost still. All the visible urgency belonged to the colour at the far end.

He laid the metal on the anvil. The first blow was smaller than the sound it produced. A hard note struck the room and seemed to return from several places at once. He turned the piece and struck again. Between the blows, the audience made tiny adjustments: a shoe moved back, a chin lifted, somebody stopped whispering halfway through a word.

The orange area narrowed and dulled. The smith watched it closely, then returned the piece to the fire. Without the bright end, the tongs resembled a long empty gesture. He rested one arm and waited. Outside the doorway, a pushchair wheel clicked over a stone. The small sound seemed to belong to a different scale of work.

When the metal came out again, the smith brought it to the anvil with the same measured movement. This time, I noticed the pause before the hammer fell. It was not an interruption. It was part of the sequence, as definite as the stroke which followed.

How does the writer use language to convey the work's intensity and the smith's control?