The Stone of Shadows

2. Preparations

Winter's lament had struck the town of Red Pine. The cold was far worse than ever felt, causing the shopkeepers to call it a holiday. The two-story homes stood silently, their roofs dripping with icicles. The chimneys puffed smoke into the dark blue sky. The wide street was the one wonder of this small town, now frozen over by glassy ice. Although it was a small town, with small talks, little interactions, and minor ideas tossed around, the silence of the street was too unusual, as if what had entered the community of the town needed to be expelled.

Bjor walked the empty street, almost slipping on the frozen path. He held his overcoat tight around his body, the wind creeping under his clothing. He wished the shops were open. He didn't want to hold his Dark Elf guest any longer than he had to. He was getting sick of her, sick of her prissy attitude. He tried to see what was open, to at least gather some supplies for her journey. Down the street, he was grateful to find that the blacksmith was still open, the heat from the burning charcoals thawing his icy cheeks. He walked towards the smith, seeing his friend Dexter pumping air to the fire. The Orc was capable of crafting the finest blades in town. Butcher-knives, daggers, swords, claymores, and many more. Bjor expected that his friend would still have his shop open. Neither the cold nor the rain bothered Dexter. Bjor stepped closer to the flaming hot coals. "Greetings, Dexter," said Bjor. "See you haven't taken the holiday."

"I got no need to take a day off," said Dexter. "Cold don't bother me."

"You've always been resilient," said Bjor. "Where's your apprentice?"

"I gave him the day off," said Dexter. "He's been a pain anyway."

"I wouldn't say so, Dexter. He's a good kid."

"Being a good kid doesn't mean being a good smith," said Dexter. "I love him like a son, but he just doesn't have the craft. I'd be grateful if he made the simplest designs. But not even. Everything he makes just shatters to pieces."

"You underestimate a human's capability to use a hammer," said Bjor.

"It's undeniable," said Dexter. "Orcs are the finest smiths in the world. It's in our blood."

Dexter returned to the fire, pumping air to heat it up for a long sword he was making. "I came here for a sword," stated Bjor.

"Who for?"

"I've had a Dark Elf in my home since the second day of winter," said Bjor.

"A Dark Elf?" spat Dexter, as if this weren't the first time an Elf came to their little town. "Sounds like trouble."

"She'll be gone soon," said Bjor, holding back his emotions. "But we need supplies for her journey."

It was then Dexter stopped, as if the cold finally bit his bare green skin. "She'll need someone to come along," said Dexter. "Someone who hasn't had a history with snobbish Elves."

"Are you suggesting your apprentice?"

"You know me too well." Dexter smiled, rubbing his fingers as if a bargain had been made. "Convince him to come, and I'll smith two swords. Second one's on me if you get Kurt out of here."

Bjor agreed to this offer. The two friends shook on it, and Bjor went straight to Kurt's home. It was a room on the second floor of a house somewhere on main street. Bjor had known the boy since he was brought out from the womb. His parents had both vanished shortly after his birth, forcing the boy to learn many things on his own. His neighbors had become his true family, and a good family they were to him, caring, kindly, and wise. It was when he grew enough to run that he began journeying, going as far as Bjor's home to explore the wondrous pines, meeting wolves, deer, and whatever life scurried the forest. As he grew older, it became clear that the boy had developed a wild personality, though his actions were often tripped by his own clumsiness.