Damon took a deep breath, letting the silence of the forge settle before speaking.
"So…" he said, observing the space attentively, "what exactly did I come looking for?"
The old man snorted, walking to a workbench and starting to fiddle with tools unnecessarily, just to have something to do while he complained.
"Exactly what I imagined," he grumbled. "She didn't explain anything to you, did she?"
"She just told you to come," Damon replied. "And that you would have something prepared."
The blacksmith let out a short, dry laugh, devoid of any humor.
"A month ago," he began, without looking at Damon, "Elizabeth showed up here. In the middle of the afternoon. Without warning. Without manners. Without the slightest consideration for my peace of mind."
He picked up an old rag and began to clean a blade that was already clean.
