Doran turned a glowing billet on the foundry anvil while Ferra worked the bellows beside him, matching every hammer strike.
Veteran blacksmith Doran wiped soot from his brow, smiling warmly at the tall charcoal-haired summon standing beside the furnace.
"You have a natural touch with the bellows, lass," the old smith chuckled, tossing a handful of charcoal onto the grate.
"Steel is like a stubborn mule... treat it with patience and heat, and it will bend to your will every time!"
"I don't need patience when I have divine combustion math!" Ferra retorted with an adorable pout, adjusting her leather apron.
"If we angle the intake dampers thirty degrees higher, the hearth temperature jumps by four hundred degrees!"
Kessa, a broad-shouldered dwarf woman with scorched leather sleeves, let out a hearty belly laugh that rattled the tool racks.
"Listen to the little artisan lecture a master smith with forty years at the anvil!" Kessa cheered, raising her iron tongs.
