Astoria Pendridge

Eight

As her bare feet walked on the dirt road, Astoria turned her head every way she could to glean at the innards of the village. The town was more spacious than she had thought, and lively too. There were people walking about dressed in all sorts of things, but mostly, activity seemed to be concentrated at the distant docks; workers busy unloading and loading things from boats.

Unaware of the odd looks she was getting from passersby, Astoria turned to the large wolf beside her, who still towered over her even when she now looked like a pre-teen.

"Where are we going, Pendridge?" She asked.

"Towards the blacksmith and tailor the guard mentioned," He answered.

"Oh? Do you know the direction? Shouldn't we ask around?"

Pendridge scoffed. "I have no need for that. The second function of my aura allows me to see and hear everything within a 10-meter radius of myself through the wind. Longer if I expel my mana."

"How does that help you find a shop?" Astoria tilted her head as she scrunched her brows.

"Tracking a beast and tracking down a store are of the same difference," He replied. "Since it belongs to a blacksmith, there must be signs of heat and fire. Perhaps, the sound of iron as well. All the more if the smithy is in plain view."

"Ooooh! You're smart, Pendridge!"

Astoria stood on her tippy-toes as she patted his head. In return, he seemed to raise his head higher to escape her hand, earning him a soft pout of frustration from her.

In quick time, Astoria was left to wonder if Pendridge could do anything he set his mind upon. As he had said, he really did track down the store as if it were a creature, and his words were right on the mark. There was the sound of iron hitting iron, and a cove of flame. The 'store' itself was what seemed like a two-story wooden house, mostly like the rest of those around it but a bit more stout in its appearance. A more major difference was that the smithy was an open concept, attached to the left of the main building.

Pendridge walked forward and Astoria followed him.

There, a dark-skinned boy dressed in shorts of brown and a shirt of the same color met them. He had a head of fluffy, black hair, and his eyes were a peculiar azure that reminded her of the sky. Astoria felt odd as he looked her over with an indifferent gaze and a listless expression.

The boy cocked his head into the smithy.

"Papa!" He yelled. "There's a strange, almost-naked girl, and a big wolf carrying another smaller, dead one in its mouth!"

"Hey!" Astoria retorted.

The sound of ringing iron stopped, and a man made his way to the front of the smithy as he wiped his sweat from his forehead. Unlike his thin and lanky son, the man was burly, with a thick beard of white and a face that eluded warmth. Yet, he was just as short as his pre-teen son.

"Dwarf?" Astoria muttered on instinct, her eyes wide.

"Why does everyone that I meet for the first time immediately blurt that out?" The man tilted his head, confused and saddened. "I understand I am short, but I am not a dwarf!"

"It's because you act like one as well, papa."

"You unfilial son, I do not."

"You're a blacksmith, papa," The boy retorted, his words neutral and passive, "And your breath ricks of alcohol from morning to sundown as you swing your hammer."

At that, Astoria couldn't help but break out into laughter. Pendridge, on the other hand, dropped the carcass he had been carrying all this while on the ground and spoke up.