Before an argument could erupt between the two, Nethlia stepped in, blocking the grumpy old man from Autumn’s view. 

“Be quiet, you grumpy old man.” 

Nethlia admonished before turning to mock-whisper to Autumn.

“Don’t mind him. He’s like that with everyone.”

Orzon threw a masterful stink eye at the towering demoness. Nethlia turned back to speak to the blacksmith demon. 

“Autumn here was looking for some of that junk you have laying about.” 

“Junk?! This ain’t junk, you knucklehead.” Orzon shouted in offense. 

“You aren’t using it. I remember that pile of scrap being there since I was little. She only needs a few things.”

Orzon grumbled inaudibly under his breath before turning his wizened face towards Autumn.

“Well? Whatcha want then?” 

Under his steely gaze, Autumn cleared her suddenly parched throat.

“I just need about two fingers’ worth of Agoroth horn, some strips of leather, a couple of nails and screws, and a few lengths of thin wire.”

Orzon grunted before gesturing over at the pile of crates.

“Find whatcha like from the scraps.” 

Before she turned away, a sudden idea occurred to her; back in the Feywild that iron horseshoe had saved her life, and she regretted leaving it behind. 

“Um, also, do you have any cold-iron and can you work it?”

The demon who had initially dismissed her turned back with a curious look in his eye. 

“Cold-iron, eh?” 

Wrinkles deepened further as he raised a hairy eyebrow. 

“It’s iron forged without the use of a flame.”

While she didn’t know whether the iron she had used before had been cold-iron, it was a safe bet. Stories from Earth had claimed that the metal was antithetical to a fae’s nature and another source of protection couldn’t hurt. 

“I know what it is yer daft lass!” 

The old demon growled in genuine offense, unlike his playfulness before. 

“I don’t need some whip of a girl telling me how to do my craft. I don’t go around telling you how to cast spells, do I?” 

“Sorry.” Autumn apologized, although she was losing her temper with the elder demon. 

“I was wondering what you needed it for,” Orzon grumbled at her.

“There is a certain type of creature I wanted protection from; they’re weak to iron, cold-iron to be specific. If it is in a horseshoe, that’d be fine, well a palm-sized one should work; just to act as a ward.”

Orzon, the blacksmith, rubbed his stubbled chin in thought. 

“I can pay. Well, once I get to the city, I’ll get some coins exchanged.” Autumn offered, but the old man waved her off.

“Eh, don’t worry about it; I’ll just take it in drinks on my tab.” 

“Hey!” Nethlia half-heartedly complained.

“I have some iron ore left over from a job, just enough to work. Now buzz off and do yah work.” 

With a final parting wave of annoyance towards them, the ancient hunched demon shuffled off to his still blazing forge unbothered by the immense heat. From within the haze, all they could hear was his grumbling and the shifting of ore and rock.

Nethlia just shrugged apologetically.

“If you’re all settled in, I need to get back to my tavern,” Nethlia glanced at the position of the bright sun. “Get prepared for lunch, ya know? Feel free to come over once you’re done.”

With a wave, the demoness left with a basket of drying clothes under her arm. 

Autumn absentmindedly noted her departure as she rummaged through the boxes upon boxes of overflowing scrap; various materials from years of offcuts and excess materials lay within, ripe for picking.

It didn’t take her all that much time to gather her desired materials. 

From the piles, Autumn had found a few cut-down sections of bone-white colored horn that measured up roughly to the fingers on her left hand. Slowly, she used her iron knife to whittle them down to the right shape and size. Now that the horn looked like actual fingers, she marked out the joints. With a toothed small saw, she carefully separated the pieces. 

Autumn borrowed a pair of tongs from the forge along with a thin nail that was made of bronze that had been discarded to the side. Into the flames the pair went until the nail glowed brightly and with meticulous care she bore a hole through the horn, tapping cautiously with a heavy hammer.

Sweat trickled down her brow and spine as the forge’s hotness suffused her. 

Unbeknown to the sweaty witch, she was being monitored by the blacksmith, Orzon. The elder demon watched with interest and fondness, twinkling in his eye as she crafted. 

Autumn swore under her breath as she broke the nail as she attempted to twist it into a simple screw. Another bent beneath her forceful ministrations. 

“You’re putting too much force into it, girly.” Orzon pointed out as he approached. 

Autumn glanced in his direction in annoyance and frustration.

“Here, you twist it like this.” 

The elder demon blacksmith plucked an iron nail from within his apron and held it to the flames, the licks of infernal heat hardly bothering the smith. With care and patience, he taught the young girl his expertise. With a hiss of steam, the screw was quenched. Autumn placed the fingertips or distal phalanges into a wooden clamp before gingerly twisting the screws into them. Once they were firmly in place, Autumn turned her attention to connecting the pieces.

It wasn’t a complicated design; she was just going to feed a bit of wire through the holes she’d bore and weld it to a thumb ring. Thus, when she pulled her thumb forward, it’d pull the fingers closed. 

Or so she hoped.

From the pile of scrap, she had salvaged a few thin iron wires. 

“Here.” 

Orzon placed a wire extruder on Autumn’s workbench; a pair of heavy blocks of metal with a series of holes of differing gauges. As Autumn pulled the wire through, it grew smaller and smaller. Orzon watched with interest as Autumn threaded the now thinner wire through the remaining carved pieces that represented the middle (medial) and lower (proximal) bones. Dexterously, the wire was threaded around the screw’s head and welded on with a hot poker. With a pull of the wire, the finger-bones clicked together.

“Do you have any rings about? I need one to fit my thumb?” Autumn asked the hovering blacksmith. 

Orzon eyed Autumn’s thumb, judging the size. From his pocket, he withdrew a worn iron ring; the jewelry looked beat up and scratched but had been polished with meticulous care. 

The old demon looked at the ring with a melancholic gaze before gruffly handing it over. 

“Here, it should fit fine.” 

“Are you sure?” Autumn asked. She hadn’t missed that look. 

“I am. It’ll be of more use to you than just sitting in my pocket. Besides, it’s just a hunk of metal now that it doesn’t fit.” 

The demon rubbed at his heavily calloused fingers.

Autumn placed the ring on her thumb. It fit just fine. Taking the other end of the wire, she tested the range of movement before cutting and welding it to the ring.

The last step of her design involved stitching together a harness for the fingers and a way to secure it to her hand. She had expected its construction would take a fair while, what with her missing fingers, but with the help of the grumpy demon smith, it ended up not taking as long. 

In the end, they created a sort of half glove that would sit over the stumps of her fingers and then wrap around the back of her hand and across her palm till her thumb where they had cut a hole. To properly secure it, her wrist and behind her thumb passed a leather cord through two holes. 

Autumn admired Orzon’s and her work as she flexed her thumb. The pull of the wire caused the fingers to clench and unclench and by swiftly wrapping her thumb over them, she could form a fist.

Not that she’d risk hitting anything or anyone with it, but it would allow her to hold things again, at least. 

“Thank you,” Autumn addressed Orzon beside her, “for helping me, I mean.”

Orzon huffed before turning away in embarrassment.

“It was painful seeing you try to forge is all. Don’t think too hard about it.”

A shy smile played upon Autumn’s lips as she beheld the broad back of the grandfatherly demon. 

“Okay,” was all Autumn said.

Far above their heads, the blazing sun beat a noontime heat. 

Glancing about, Autumn realized Nethlia had taken both of their wet clothes with her. She felt mildly embarrassed that she had forgotten to hang them up before her project absorbed her mind. At the very least, she could have warmed them in front of the forge. 

Although Orzon might have objected to that.

Speaking of the old man, he had retreated to his cluttered workspace where a small palm-sized horseshoe sat. As Autumn watched, the elder demon wrapped a thin cord of red leather around the curve. 

“Here, it didn’t take me all that long.” 

Orzon held out the cold-iron horseshoe to Autumn. As she felt the cold weight in her palm, she glanced down at it and noticed a few exquisite engravings, including an odd infernal mark she could read thanks to her gifts. It was simply the smith’s name.

“Oh, sorry about that. It’s my smith’s mark. I do it so much it’s second nature.” 

Autumn quirked a smile at the smith.

“It’s alright, I like it.” 

Autumn looped the charm around her neck and tucked it under her shirt. 

It wasn’t a repellant that’d keep the nightmares at bay, but she hoped it’d at least give them pause long enough to matter.

A clamorous rumble broke into the soft silence of the workshop as Autumn’s stomach announced her appetite to the world. Embarrassed, Autumn clung to it as the demon in front of her let out a resounding chuckle. 

“Seems like you could use some food in ya. Crafting makes one hungry.” 

“Are you coming?” Autumn asked.

Orzon hesitated a moment in contemplation before shaking his head.

“Nah, you young folk don’t want an old fogey hanging about. I’m gonna finish up before catching up on a noon nap. Go on with you.”

With a nod in farewell, Autumn turned and journeyed away from the elderly demon’s abode, fiddling all the while with her new prosthetic.

Following her nose as much as her feet, Autumn found herself before the Duskmoore once again. This time a sight more put together, beside the shoes, of course. As she entered, an atmosphere of warm joviality blasted her in the face. Cheerful conversation and chatter filled the inn. Groups of farmers sat upon cushions and pillows around low tables teeming with cooked meat and breads.

From what she had seen so far, the people of this community seemed to favor a rather more communal style of dining over the more solitary one that a modern earth favored. 

She was a city girl that hadn’t traveled all that much. 

Autumn’s stomach emphatically complained once again at her inaction, drawing the attention of the bustling inn. She hustled across to the front bar whilst hiding her warm cheeks beneath the shade her hat brim provided. Within the kitchen saw the wondrous sight of a rotating spit of glistening meat, the juices dripping down the charred exterior of the massive leg. The smell had her salivating already. 

Like a hungry puppy, she watched with wide eyes as Nethlia carved off lengths of the juicy meat onto a plate alongside a heaping of diced bright purple fruits practically swimming in a rich gravy.

After thanking Nethlia and momentarily showing off her project, Autumn retreated outside to enjoy her tantalizing meal in peace.