Thilwend

Hertha looked up from her studied examination of a box of nails, a gate hinge and a small eating knife. The double doors to the armory and forge swung open in a manner suggesting someone was not totally at ease that day.

“Did you get out of the wrong side of the bed this morning, cousin, or is it something I said?” 

She was weary. The sun was not even high in the sky, and she was weary. Sweeping a strand of thick flaming auburn hair from her eyes, the smith worked on the bellows, building the fire in her forge a little hotter. Why was it that she had such trouble from that foolish and vain guard. He didn’t want a woman working on his armour? Fine! Let him find someone else to do the repairs.

We reached the end of the track that led to the garrison itself. The previous quiet was broken by the sound of several voices speaking, and several horses moving about. 

Waelden leaned on a fence, and chuckled with satisfaction as he looked out over the garrison grounds. “As I said… well protected.”