There was a warmth in the light of dawn. The starlight scattered by the canopy. If not for the distance clatter of metal, one would not think there was anything more than a watering hole out here. As the sound grew louder, a chorus of chimes pitched in. The steady roar of a waterfall. The creak of a mill.
The orchestra contrasted ominously against the prevalent wilderness, and the mouth of the hut was bleeding smoke. Even still, the canopy looming overhead bore a sense of familiarity.
“You never seem to run out-”
“Bloody-” The form of the shadow split abruptly. A flash of red and smudged whiskers caught in the twilight. An arm held up, torn between throwing the hammer and withholding it, “One of these days that will get you killed. For your sake, the next time you enter unannounced, I’m beating you to a pulp. If that doesn’t teach you, you might as well become grease for the mill.”
“Nice to see you too.”
The smith had red hair with black stained tips. At first glance, one would think her eyes were slitted, but it was a trick of the light and the goggles she preferred. The gambeson she wore had a number of dials stitched into it. Some of which ticked and shimmied.
Those gave no meaning to the words ‘calculated movement’, but her agitation was apparent.
“Sorry to interrupt. I never know when we’ll be stopping by, and you know as well as I do, that I could be summoned at any moment.”
The smith frowned, “You know I hate that excuse. Got to prove your worth to all the world before making time for me.”1Well that got unexpectedly flirty
He sputtered, “N-Now when did you start getting-”
“It’s a bloody nuisance! Now I know you didn’t come here without calling in a favor or two.”
He smiled. A minute later, half of his kit was spread across the workbench, and the rest was in various stages of heating through the forge. He was at a loss for eye contact, but those coals were her safe space, and it didn’t cost her an ounce of wit.
She was a romantic about her tools.
