Gryphons in Greenden
"We're talking to the smith," you declare as Erric groans. "Look, I know you don't care for smiths, but they are hardworking people and the smithy is right across from the tavern. He must have seen or heard something."
"What is this fixation you have with the honesty of smiths?" Erric asks you crossly.
You don't reply, but you can remember being a small boy, barely able to see over your father's anvil, and knowing that his smiling, bearded face represented all the safety in the world. In the years after the raid, and even now, the sounds and smells of a smithy represent for you the stability you lost the day the Reds came over the border and through the streets, bearing arms and flame.
"What is this fixation you have with the honesty of smiths?" Erric asks you crossly.
You don't reply, but you can remember being a small boy, barely able to see over your father's anvil, and knowing that his smiling, bearded face represented all the safety in the world. In the years after the raid, and even now, the sounds and smells of a smithy represent for you the stability you lost the day the Reds came over the border and through the streets, bearing arms and flame.