As Eron stepped toward the door , he hesitated. He clenched his fist, raised it to knock—
WHAM.
The door flung open before he even touched it. Standing in the doorway was the old man, face twisted in rage.
"What the hell are you doing here?" the old man barked. "I didn't say you could come knockin' at my door, did I?"
Eron blinked, startled. "I—uh—I just thought—"
"Thought what? That you'd wake me up with your damn cheerfulness? Don't you people have shame anymore?"
"Or did you Want to waste more of my time? Thought you'd drop off another lump of scrap and get a pat on the back?"
"No," Eron said, straightening. His nerves burned under his skin. "I finished it. The armor."
For a moment, silence reigned. Then, without a word, the old man turned and stomped back into the house, leaving the door open.
The old man had turned sharply and while walking he was grumbling curses like they were nails between his teeth.
