[That word - Shardbearer - is enough to make him stiffen slightly, and with slow, deceptive calmness he places the tongs and hammer on the anvil. The words that follow do little to improve that, and he finally glances up, reaching for a nearby rag to wipe at the soot on his fingers and palms.
And yet he chooses not to address the first at all, instead bluntly bulldozing into the second.]
That has yet to be decided. For all this place speaks of war, it is not what I would consider well-armed.
[And does it matter? Whether he keeps his future creation - a short knife (though at the moment the shaft of metal is deceptively long), meant to be tucked away for emergencies in a boot - for himself, or gives it away, is of little concern to anyone else. He creates because outside of war, it's what he knows, and that is another thing he doesn't feel needs to be shared.]
no subject
And yet he chooses not to address the first at all, instead bluntly bulldozing into the second.]
That has yet to be decided. For all this place speaks of war, it is not what I would consider well-armed.
[And does it matter? Whether he keeps his future creation - a short knife (though at the moment the shaft of metal is deceptively long), meant to be tucked away for emergencies in a boot - for himself, or gives it away, is of little concern to anyone else. He creates because outside of war, it's what he knows, and that is another thing he doesn't feel needs to be shared.]