#you wouldn't normally think that blacksmithing and atoning dragons go well together

[rafent]

✦ 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇 '𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑' 𝐀𝐑𝐂 ✧

Supply run reflection & post-Epiphany development? A little bit.

"Don't throw that away."

Spelling momentary inaction in a scene of fire and clangor, sizzling swirls of steam and smoke kissed the ceiling on now fading tufts. Silence settled like sediment as a pale hand halted with its owner's puzzled response, a lick of irritation if one should look closely. Belonging to a figure of obvious distaste against sudden and unreasonable commands; a quirk of one especially strong will.

Still Rafal did as he were told and placed down the ruined blade. "—Why? This sword is misshapen with unseemly dents. It is beyond salvaging."

"Says who?"

The Faerghian blacksmith came over. Far younger than Rafal but wizened by the sheer concentration of years spent in his craft. Even far worldlier than a Fell Dragon in some ways, he shook his head with a chuckle as if long waiting to deliver his wisdom.

"In our field of work, there's a saying: there exist no mistakes."

". . .Explain."

The man's finger ran affectionately down pitted metal. So gentle and forgiving and incomprehensible an act that the dragon's lips twisted with an unconscious frown. Disturbed at how a failure might ever be welcomed.

"Cut lumber too short and it will never grow back. Break yarn too short and you'll need to make more. But bend metal out of shape, and it can be fixed. Just subject it to heat and a botched piece can begin anew. If you grasp how metal works and can be recycled, then this next saying is simple to understand."

He looked up at Rafal, homely and unremarkable, soot-stained and nothing special save that he was just a little kind. Still his words gave the dragon pause.

"There are always second chances. In metal, and in men."

...

Second chances in metal and men.

Where such a saying had ignited something of recognition behind conflicted crimson eyes, it was seed also to a natural and blooming question. One eldritch consideration that feared of all things to be a garden better realized.

"What of dragons?"

"—What was that, lad?"

Concentration shattered on a thoughtless and questioning look from one stranger to another. This was not the same blacksmith nor an identical circumstance; unlike the trip with Altena, Rafal had come here alone; the location a castle-town, not a city.

Silvery white head shook, parting with old and acquainting with new, making room for all in-between. "Nothing of import."

And not what he had come to discuss.

"Have you need for paid hands? I am new to the forge, but not a stranger, and. . .I am seeking for money."