The heft of the hammer felt good in her hand. The heat pouring off the furnace dispelled the cool of early spring, and together the work and the heat worked a sheen to her pale skin.
Maranae was happy. She had been happy for some time now, ever since arriving here in this city alongside Guslan, a man who had faded into the shadows shortly after she found someone that was willing to take her on as an apprentice. That had been an adventure in and of itself; she was illiterate and simple in her ways and her thoughts. That by itself would not have been a problem in a city like Alliria. She could have waited tables, worked in the brothels. The only catch were the other oddities, and those tended to push people away.
Tongue stuck between her teeth, she gave the hammered iron in front of her one more solid strike before stepping back to admire her handiwork. A big man in a leather apron stood behind her, looking around her (over the shoulder was hard to accomplish, as she was quite tall) at her work. He nodded silently and patted her on a shoulder that did not look it belonged to someone who worked a forge.
"Still need more control,' he said. He paused to look at her as though not entirely sure what he was doing with a willowy young woman in his shop. She was strong though, maybe even stronger than he was. It defied any logic he could come up with. She beamed at him at the words, as though they were high praise, then set the hammer on the ground next to the anvil and turned to go.
"Put it away," he said. She stopped, went back and grabbed it, and then hung it on the wall. "Go and get something to eat, and then we can finish this part of the plow."
She might have been a little slower than most the apprentices he'd dealt with over the years. Even so, she was definitely the most friendly and forthright he had the pleasure of dealing with. Most importantly, she listened to what he said. She gave him a brilliant smile as she went to go do as she was told, long canines looking more like fangs than normal teeth. Some weird ancestry in there.
Plenty of things odd about his new apprentice, though.
***
She was hungry. She was always hungry, a ceaseless din in the back of her head. It was worse when she was forced to fight things to survive, especially back in the Bad Place. Even here, where she is happy and hale, the hunger never ends. Just waxes and wanes based upon whatever weird criteria her body dictates.
One corner of the shop not dedicated to equipment awaiting repair or iron and steel waiting to be worked into tools had been set aside for her to live in. It was a grudging thing, at first, but it ended up working out for the blacksmith. She loved working iron and steel. She loved making things with her hands. In fact, the thing she had dipped into the back to grab was the first thing she ever made entirely on her own: an iron pan, not quite round and not quite even in its thickness. She actually liked to carry it around with her wherever she went. After all, you never knew when you would need to cook something.
Or hit something on the head really, really hard.
Ducking back out she brought with her that and a bundle that contained a piece of salt pork big enough for four people to make a meal of. This was what she referred to as a snack; the smell of it was maddening. People cooked their food before they ate it, though, and so she would too. She set that down on a bench and then busied herself getting some coals lined up so she could set her pan on it. The blacksmith watched out of the corner of his eye while he did his own work on the other side.
So he was the one that saw her meal grow legs and take off.
"Mara?" She looked up from what she was doing, big yellow eyes wide and guileless. "Might want to go run down your lunch. Seems someone else wanted it more..." He pointed down the street where the suggestion of a figure in boots and grey clothes was in the process of fleeing with their prize.
Her head snapped round, comical surprise followed quickly by indignation. Grabbing her pan and yelling incoherently at the thief, she took off after them.
Maranae was happy. She had been happy for some time now, ever since arriving here in this city alongside Guslan, a man who had faded into the shadows shortly after she found someone that was willing to take her on as an apprentice. That had been an adventure in and of itself; she was illiterate and simple in her ways and her thoughts. That by itself would not have been a problem in a city like Alliria. She could have waited tables, worked in the brothels. The only catch were the other oddities, and those tended to push people away.
Tongue stuck between her teeth, she gave the hammered iron in front of her one more solid strike before stepping back to admire her handiwork. A big man in a leather apron stood behind her, looking around her (over the shoulder was hard to accomplish, as she was quite tall) at her work. He nodded silently and patted her on a shoulder that did not look it belonged to someone who worked a forge.
"Still need more control,' he said. He paused to look at her as though not entirely sure what he was doing with a willowy young woman in his shop. She was strong though, maybe even stronger than he was. It defied any logic he could come up with. She beamed at him at the words, as though they were high praise, then set the hammer on the ground next to the anvil and turned to go.
"Put it away," he said. She stopped, went back and grabbed it, and then hung it on the wall. "Go and get something to eat, and then we can finish this part of the plow."
She might have been a little slower than most the apprentices he'd dealt with over the years. Even so, she was definitely the most friendly and forthright he had the pleasure of dealing with. Most importantly, she listened to what he said. She gave him a brilliant smile as she went to go do as she was told, long canines looking more like fangs than normal teeth. Some weird ancestry in there.
Plenty of things odd about his new apprentice, though.
***
She was hungry. She was always hungry, a ceaseless din in the back of her head. It was worse when she was forced to fight things to survive, especially back in the Bad Place. Even here, where she is happy and hale, the hunger never ends. Just waxes and wanes based upon whatever weird criteria her body dictates.
One corner of the shop not dedicated to equipment awaiting repair or iron and steel waiting to be worked into tools had been set aside for her to live in. It was a grudging thing, at first, but it ended up working out for the blacksmith. She loved working iron and steel. She loved making things with her hands. In fact, the thing she had dipped into the back to grab was the first thing she ever made entirely on her own: an iron pan, not quite round and not quite even in its thickness. She actually liked to carry it around with her wherever she went. After all, you never knew when you would need to cook something.
Or hit something on the head really, really hard.
Ducking back out she brought with her that and a bundle that contained a piece of salt pork big enough for four people to make a meal of. This was what she referred to as a snack; the smell of it was maddening. People cooked their food before they ate it, though, and so she would too. She set that down on a bench and then busied herself getting some coals lined up so she could set her pan on it. The blacksmith watched out of the corner of his eye while he did his own work on the other side.
So he was the one that saw her meal grow legs and take off.
"Mara?" She looked up from what she was doing, big yellow eyes wide and guileless. "Might want to go run down your lunch. Seems someone else wanted it more..." He pointed down the street where the suggestion of a figure in boots and grey clothes was in the process of fleeing with their prize.
Her head snapped round, comical surprise followed quickly by indignation. Grabbing her pan and yelling incoherently at the thief, she took off after them.