BRIGHT SUNLIGHT ON her face roused Tiwaz from sleep. Despite wishing to give into the lethargy dragging on her, she pushed herself up and rubbed her face tiredly, every fiber of her being aching. She bemusedly looked at the glass window, cloudy from years of dust that had accumulated on its exterior surface, then over the simple bedroom. “I slept too long.” With a grimace, she pulled herself to her feet, dressed, and headed for the kitchen.

“Ah, so you’re up finally,” Kerk observed cheerfully when she entered. “Good timing. I just finished making lunch. Well. It’s been in the making since last night, really. Stew’s wonderful this time of year. Warms a body and sticks with you.” He waved to the table. “Sit, sit. You look like a ghost, damned near transparent from starvation.”

Carefully stepping over the bench, Tiwaz’s stomach growled loudly. She kept her eyes lowered, her cheeks burning red. “It smells good,” she offered. She looked at the cup he sat in front of her. She sniffed it warily as she lifted it with care.

“That is a special blend of tea I get from one of the traders when they come through. Good for aches and keeps a stomach settled.” He headed to the hearth to fill a pair of bowls from the cauldron. He sat them down, then brought over a bread basket with small rolls, utensils and a jar with butter. “I talked to your friend Doom about your journey out of Crossroads this morning.” His expression reflected both admiration and admonishment. “You abused yourself horribly, lass.” He pointed his butter knife at her meaningfully before slathering butter on the warm bread. “I’ll see you get set back to rights, I will.”

“I don’t want to take all of your resources,” Tiwaz began, flinching when he hit the table firmly with his fist.

“Trust me, you won’t. When I built this house, I planned on a huge family. Had one, too. My wife, she was a good woman. But she was born in the Western Empire. More used to the tamer magicks than what runs through the land up here. And more used to civilization like they have down there.” He dipped his bread in his stew, chewing for a time in silence. Tiwaz sipped her tea, then finally turned her attention to her food. “This land’ll bite you if you don’t watch it.”

Tiwaz closed her eyes. “When we were slaves, Doom used to tell me the woodsman lore he was taught. He said his trainer taught him more than our master wanted him to know, so he was very careful not to let his knowledge show.” She opened her eyes to stare at her stew, moving her spoon aimlessly. “He said in the Southern Wildlands, a person could watch the jungle grow over a settlement. The desert would bury it in the sands.”

“Sounds a lot like up here,” Kerk agreed easily. “Any building that survives here was built on compromise with the land. We have to give back as much to the land as we take from it. Admittedly, it makes it harder for those of us who like solid buildings. But, those who survive here? Well, we figured it out. Would not want it any other way.” He got up to fill his mug, returning to sit across from her. “So, you are a tall girl. Almost be able to look a wolflen eye to eye. Measure what? About six feet?”

“I feel like I must be shorter now with all the walking we have done.” She looked up, surprised he chuckled, then smiled, blushing shyly. “I was fighting or learning how to fight since I was…I guess seven years. That’s what my trainer said our master told him how old I was. I don’t remember.”

As she finished the last of her stew and tea, Kerk pushed himself to his feet. “Go ahead and put the dishes in that basin. Can wash them after supper. I have some work to finish before I go to market. Figured I’ll give you the tour of the town while I run errands.” He looked her over musingly. “Definitely will need to talk with the tailor. You need clothes you won’t freeze to death in. Gets mighty cold up here during the depths of winter.”

“Clothes?” She looked down at herself. “I might have some gold left to buy—”

“Bah. Don’t worry about it. If you insist on earning your way, I’ll find some tasks for you. Teach you how to do them if you don’t know already.” He pushed the door opened with a grunt, shoving a foot of snow out of the way. He kicked some that had fallen back in the door’s path, then shut it before heading to his smithy. “Gold isn’t much use to anyone in Bralden. Wolflen hate the stuff. Makes too much noise as jewelry or money.” He patted the pouch on his hip. “Being they are covered with fur thick enough to keep them warm during the winter, all they wear is ornamentation or utilitarian. People who know will buy iron ingots or other more useful things with their gold to trade here in the north.” He waved to one of the stump stools. “Won’t take me long to finish this piece. By then, sun should be up high enough for everyone to be out and about.”

As she sat quietly, Tiwaz watched with fixed intensity while the man worked. “There’s a flaw.”

Startled she even spoke, Kerk blinked at her. “Eh? What? A flaw?”

She nodded and got up, pointing out the aberration in the metal. “Here. It looks like something contaminated the metal when it was melted.”

The blacksmith held up the blade, squinting as he held it up. He reached over to the lamp to turn it up brighter and looked again. “Well, I’ll be a donkey’s ass. I never would have seen that one if I wasn’t looking for it.” He looked curiously at her. “How’d you see it in this light?”

Tiwaz shrugged. “Doom’s life depended on me. If I failed any task or lost any fight, our master would punish him.” She looked towards the glow emanating from the forge. “My trainer would put flawed weapons among those I was to choose from. During matches where we raced to the middle to grab weapons, I could spot a bad one and choose better.”

“Interesting. Did you ever learn how to make your own?” Before she answered, he chuckled in bemusement, studying the blade. “Never imagined I’d be having a conversation like this with a pretty thing like you.” She blinked then stared at him.

When she didn’t answer the question, he looked at her with a grin. “Well? Had you any training in forging? Some of the arena masters in the Western Empire insist for those who wield weapons know how to repair or replace them. Keeps them from getting careless or reckless with the tools of the trade, see. Or a trade to fall back on if they survived the years of fights.”

She shook her head. “No. My master would not allow anything like that. It was outside what he wished to use me for. But aside from that, I know everything there is about weapons and armor.” She added, “Though I was permitted less and less armor over the years. I learned to compensate.”

Kerk snorted. “Your former master was an unmitigated ass.” Rubbing his chin, he commented offhandedly, “You know, it gets real busy here during spring. People come from all around the region to get their metal bits fixed or replaced. I could use an extra set of hands around here. My last apprentice earned his journeyman badge and left to hone his skills.” He looked sideways at her. “Think you might want to be my apprentice?”

“You want me to be your student?” Tiwaz asked in disbelief.

“Of course. Anyone with as keen an eye as yours? Be a waste not to train that up.” He added wisely, “Talk to your friend Doom about it first and make sure it is okay with him if you want. Don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you to do anything.”

She held her hand up. “It is not that. All my life, I was told what to do. What to think. What to be.” She looked away. “I was never asked to do anything by anyone but Doom. I thought I was only a gladiator.” She took a deep breath, exhaling loudly. “A gladiator without an arena is…nothing.”

“Bah. Gladiating is just a type of fighting. Fighting can be used anywhere, just depends on how you choose to use your skills.” He tossed the blade in the box with other scrap to be melted down again. “Well, unless he wants it to break, he’ll just have to wait until I can smelt a better batch of steel.” He stretched. “May as well head on to market. I’ll show you some of the sights of Bralden. Place isn’t much, has its problems like anywhere else, but it’s got a good heart.” He looked back towards Tiwaz who was staring at the forge fire. “You coming, lass?”

“I get to choose?” she whispered. With a burst of realization, she straightened, squaring her shoulders. With more confidence, she stated aloud, “I get to choose. Yes. I am coming.” Kerk kept his expression neutral until she walked past him towards the main road through town. Then he smiled.