Blaecwyn sat on a table and swung her legs back and forth. It was dark in here, save for the glow of the coals from the forge. Across the room, standing over the anvil the huge form of her father stood, swinging his arm up and down as he beat at a long piece of metal that Blaecwyn considered may well become a sword. It was hot in here, stuffy and so noisy from the crackling of the flames and the grunts of the big man as he pounded away at his work.
"Papa," she spoke into one of the rare silences as he paused to survey his progress. "Why do I have to sit here? It's boring and there's snow outside."
Cennulf laid aside his hammer and turned to regard her silently. Since the day her mother had gone away, Cennulf had always looked at his youngest daughter with a degree of sadness. She could see it in his eyes even now but could not understand why he would look at her so when he did not look at Leoric or Amelle in the same way.
"Because you've been sick of late, little one," he replied, smiling softly to try hiding his worry. "I want to keep an eye on you."
"But I'm fine, papa!" she protested. "I've been fine for ages. I'm not sick at all!"
Cennulf sighed deeply and crossed the room. Reaching out a shovel-sized hand, he ruffled his daughters curly hair affectionately.
"Those headaches of yours worry me," he told her gently. "Until I know they've completely gone, you are going to stay with me."
Blaecwyn sighed and folded her arms. Sticking out her bottom lip and furrowing her brow, she pouted in as sulky a manner as she could. She had only had three headaches since the first time and they had gone away in a day or two. She had not had one in weeks!
"But I'm so bored!"
Cennulf sighed again and nodded. He ruffled her hair once more, then turned away to rummage about the room for something. In short order, he returned with a thin piece of silver which he held out to her with a smile.
"Play with this, little one," he bade her. "The mayor's wife has asked for a ring, but I have all these other things to do. Why don't you see if you make one for her?"
Blaecwyn wrinkled her little button nose and eyed the strip of metal as if it were a snake about to bite. She reached out to take it, holding it between her thumb and forefinger as her father had. Somehow, it looked so much bigger in her small hand.
"But I don't know how," she complained. "And you won't let me play with any of the hammers or anything!"
Cennulf straightened himself up and placed his hands either side of her waist, lifting her from the bench with ease to place her down on her feet. With an encouraging smile, he led her over to a smaller bench tucked away in one corner of the room, pulled out a chair for her to stand on and once more picked her up to place her atop it.
"I'll help you," he said, reaching for a leather roll containing the tools of tinkering. "But you have to do the work. If you're good enough, I'll teach you a bit more each day and then you can make these trinkets whilst I get on with the bigger things."
"But what if she doesn't like it?" Blaecwyn asked, suddenly worried.
Cennulf grinned and flapped a hand dismissively.
"Don't you worry your pretty little head about that, daughter," he told her. "The woman is a dried up shrew and if she doesn't like it then tough. She can send her husband to complain and I'll handle it. Now, come on. See that tool there? That's the first one you need."
Blaecwyn laughed at her fathers description of the mayors wife. She did not know why her father might think the woman was a long-dead rodent but she agreed with the sentiment. She didn't like the woman either. Listening carefuly to her fathers instructions, Blaecwyn picked up the tool and set to work under his gentle and loving guidance.
