THE BELLOWS EXHALED into the forge with a low growl as Doom pumped. Kerk took out the container holding molten metal with a pair of tongs, pouring it into the ingot molds. The man rubbed the back of his gloved hand across his brow, grinning up at the gromek. “Ah, lad, you should hunt the bigger game more often so you can stay here and help! My forge never burned so hot. This has to be one of the purest melts I’ve had in years.”

Doom glanced over to Tiwaz who was carefully cleaning a newly forged long knife in her hands. “I would have thought it would burn hotter if she was working the bellows.”

Kerk grunted. “Harder to teach that way.” He looked at the mold a moment. “Need to let this set and cool before we pour the next ones.” Taking his gloves off, he approached Tiwaz while Doom leaned against the table behind him. “Let’s see what you have there, lass.” Solemnly, she placed the weapon on the table, clasping her hands behind her back stoically but bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Relax, Ti,” Doom soothed.

“I never made anything before!” she retorted.

“You could have fooled me,” Kerk said after a thorough, thoughtful examination, holding it in his palms. “You have a gift, lass. This is as sweet a blade as any I have seen or made. Little large for a knife, but the longer hilt balances that out.” He squinted along the blade. “I don’t know how you blackened the metal. Most are not keen on matte weapons. I’ll have to watch you next time and see, but I’m sure you can make a blade that polishes up nice in the future.” Turning it point down, he stabbed it into the wood, leaving it standing up for a moment before pulling it out, examining it. “Sharp as all hells. Durable, but not brittle.” He stuck it back into the table. “It’s plain, but we can work on fancier work later. Good job.”

Tiwaz’s pale features flushed with his praise, unconsciously squaring her shoulders and standing straight with pride. She started to speak when there was a knock on the half opened street door. Her smile faded to a neutral expression when the trio of wolflen entered.

Pack Leader bowed more deeply than he had the previous night. “Your decision, Warrior?”

She took a deep breath. “I would be honored to participate in the Solstice Games.”

He nodded, about to take his leave, when his golden eyes were drawn to the knife stuck in the table. Without asking, he pulled it out to study it. His fellows snickered at his bark of pained surprise when he cut himself along its edge testing it with his thumb. He growled, shaking his hand to rid himself of the sensation. Once his companions subsided, he turned his attention to Kerk. “Smith, how much do you ask for this?”

“You want it?” Tiwaz asked in shock.

He bared his teeth, a growl under his tones. “I am not ignorant because I am wolflen, Warrior. I can recognize good forging. This is strong. Good for hunting because it will not catch the moonlight. Plain, easy to make my own.” Dyed leather, carved bone beads, tufts of fur and feathers decorated each wolflen’s weapons. The styles varied between individuals, but the style held a similar pattern for all of an individual’s weapons. He looked back to Kerk. “What is this worth to you? I will give it.”

“A tempting offer, Pack Leader,” Kerk stated with nonchalance. “But it isn’t up to me because I’m not the one who made it.” He waved to Tiwaz. “You’ll have to dicker with her.”

Tiwaz stiffened at the sudden, unexpected attention the three wolflen suddenly gave her. At a loss, she said after a long silence, “I…don’t know. I never sold anything before.” The wolflen frowned deeply. She added with a helpless gesture, “Whatever you think is fair is acceptable.”

Kerk slapped a hand over his eyes, shaking his head mournfully. “I see I need to teach her good bartering if she going to survive up here,” he muttered under his breath.

Doom chuckled and gave the man a light nudge. “Wait.”

Pack Leader considered the blade in his hand, his brow furrowed in deep thought. Finally, he took the ornate, carved and decorated bone knife from his belt and laid it on the table. Kerk’s jaw dropped and the pair of wolflen spoke their shock in their own, growling tongue. The larger wolflen snapped his teeth at his companions, glaring until they subsided. When Tiwaz nodded in acceptance, he returned the gesture and left the smithy.

Kerk stared for a time before he shook his head in disbelief. “Never in my life would I have ever imagined seeing something like that. You want to know how good your work is? That there is a wolflen ceremonial knife that marks the leader of the tribe. Nothing short of death separates a wolflen from symbols of rank. Usually.”

Without a word, Tiwaz picked up the knife, staring at it, then at the street outside as she hugged the blade against herself protectively.