I have never been this tired and sore. Six hours straight, with not a moment away from the hammer, tongs, and bellows. I am disgusting, covered in sweat, and I hurt in places I never before knew existed. I hurt so much I can't even really remember how we got here, but Primus the Runemaker would only provide with a means of passage to our next destination, Lochlainn, if we each answered a question of him. More, however, was required of me. Six days of this grueling forge work Primus wants. Should I live through it, I'll consider myself blessed if I can even raise my sword again.
The irony of circumstance is worth noting, though. For the second time, I will be a bizarre surrogate father; this time, it will be not to just one boorish girl, but an entirely new species, a new race of sentient beings. And I will have helped create them, in my own small way.
The partial progenitor of a new race. How very odd to think of myself that way. The philosophical implications will have to wait, however. I must sleep; the hammer, tongs, and bellows await me.... |
