I

The blacksmith worked in the searing, familiar, heat of his forge. Sweat trickled from his brow, rolling down through his thick beard before dripping onto his bare chest as he worked, furious yet methodical. Each hammer blow was a thing of precision, each movement carefully calculated. He folded the glowing hot metal, shaping it. Each strike was accompanied by the slightest draining sensation, and he felt The Stranger’s hand guiding him. 

After all, he thought, it would be a shame to waste this Gift. 

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