The Arena

Blacksmiths

Wind blew through trees, softly rustling the new spring leaves carrying with it the scent of new buds and refreshed nature. The wind blew along the dirt streets, picking up lose dirt while townsfolk started to walk about, new spring dresses swayed with the wind around soft pale legs and hair struggled to sit behind pins and ribbons. Soft spring winds had yet to arrive in the capital of Milshar but once they did, folk would be smiling brighter as they let their hair down. Children ran between horse legs and jumped over crates while playing fighter. Running past store fronts as they opened for business, allowimg waiting,  paying customers to enter their establishments. One business opened their gate wide and hooked it to the wall so the wind would not pull the gate closed. The dark smoked wooden walls slowly came to life as the bellows were worked by the blacksmith's daughter, Isabella. With each puff she brightened the shop, embers growing brighter and spitting sparks into the air as the work shop gradually grew warmer. The tin roof rattled above the open entrance as the wind threatened to enter the shop and throw more than dirt into eyes. Blacksmith Edmund looked up and down the street before starting his morning routine. It would not be long until soldiers filled the streets to keep order and collect produce, among other items for the the castle that gleemed on top of the hill. Embers only glowed a bright orange, not enough to lighten more than one corner of the shop. Isabella moved around the shop, lighting the lanterns to bring more light to her father's work. With each new spark of light cast on the family, Edmund could see his daughter more clearly. Her black hair shone red in the sunlight and orange in the dim fires of his shop. Pale skin slowly got darker each season from the smoke of the shop and moved smoothly wrapped under the tailor made dark dress and ankle boots. Each afternoon she washed her skin to lesson the darkening while Edmund just let the smoke stain his skin. His brown eyes followed her as she lit the final lantern, when she turned to him her pale blue eyes met him and smiled. His precious daughter would be twenty soon and still had not been courted by a man,  he knew he took the full blame for the men of the village not daring to speak to her. Blacksmiths were built tough, stern and this blacksmith did not take smack from anyone, especially when it came to his daughter. The blacksmith's daughter was the perfect catch, he would hear some soldiers say, if only they could reel her in.

The mule stood in the small stable, which sat flush to the back of the smith shop, chewing on grass that managed to grow in the trampled earth. Pulling the harness from the wall, Isabella held her soft little smile as she leaned over the stable wall and placed the harness over the animal's back and neck. After swift adjustments and strap pulling the mule was ready. After a good ten minutes of pulling and shoving, Isabella managed to get the mule to the cart. More adjusting and strap pulling and the mule was tied to the cart. Sighing with relief that the hardest part was over, Isabella held an apple chunk to the tempted mule. After the stubborn animal realised she was treating it, the animal took the chunk into its flat teeth and chewed none to quietly. Peeking into the shop, Isabella watched as the blacksmith plunged a soft glowing sword into a water trough. White steam rose from the hissing water, swiftly moving up his toned stained arms and past his soft featured face. She smiled to her father and the curly mop of hair he kept short, his beard cropped to follow the wide jaw line. Time and age had turned most of his worked muscle soft, except for the bulging muscle in hid arms that were kept firm and strong with his daily work. Yet the softness had not made him unattractive to the older women, even younger ones, of their town. 
          "I will be back in the afternoon." Isabella called, her voice bringing his brown eyes to her.
          "Be careful with those crates." Edmund said as he pulled the sword from the water for inspection.
         "I will, father." She looked to the impatient mule before adding, "There is a kettle by the fire."

The walk through town was always a long one, crowds of customers stepped out of the way of the mule and trader. However children would rush in front, dive between the short legs of the animal and hide behind the skirt of Isabella. Each time the mule would stop walking and she would have to use an apple chunk to get it to walk again. When they finally got to the hill up to the barracks her supply of fruit was running low but the children had at least stopped testing her. Half way up the hill, Isabella smiled at the faint sound of wood clashing and agrivated grunts, carried to her by the early spring winds from the arena. There was a fight on that evening and she was buzzing with excitement. Front gates of metal and wood panels gaped open, welcoming the trader into the barracks. Two guards on duty simply nodded their heads to the blacksmith's daughter as she passed. The smell of the barracks never changed, no matter how the wind blew, sun burned or rain fell. Dirt, mud and sweat filled Isabella's nose as she entered, she had gotten used to the smell with time and by this point she had come to expect  nothing less. To the right of the barracks were the stables. To the left men threw each other on the ground, practising hand on hand combat. Eventually the scene changed, after the stables was a stone building, on the left the training got more serious as men fought with weapons. Strong armed would be soldiers swinging swords her father made. Isabella never engaged in conversation with these soldiers,  she occasionally answered questions thrown her way but would not speak long. In the back right corner was the only man she ever spoke to in this barracks. Her drop zone behind him. Michael Lint was leaning agaisnt the door the the storage room, eyes closed and sandy brown hair a mess. Isabella began to unload the heavy crates, she brought the first one to Michael and dumped it at his feet, bringing him into the current time and place.
          "I am terribly sorry." She cooed to Michael who had shot her an evil look. "Were we asleep?"
         "I have been awake since sun rise yesterday. " michael groaned out. He looked at the second crate she dumped by his feet.
        "The baby keeping you awake all night?" Isabella asked. She had not stopped unloading but turned to look at him with yet another heavy crate in her arms.
         "Just as I am about to fall back to sleep she wakes me up again with that little cry of hers." Michael rubbed his temple and sat on a pile of empty crates.
        "I bet it is all worth it though." Isabella smiled. The five crates for the barracks were now by the door waiting for Michael to do his job. A slow smile crept across his face, from his mouth to his eyes as he thought of his baby girl.
         "You should really find out for yourself how worth it everything is." His eyes looked up at Isabella. Tying not to sigh she looked down at his feet. This conversation had been brought up many times, not just by Michael but by his wife, as well as the seamstress, butcher and farmers. Each time someone mentioned her status she would sigh and ask them to leave it be, Isabella did not even know anyone she was willing to have children with.
         "Some day." She said. Her eyes cut to the crates he sat upon. "Could you please stand, I need those crates." Michael looked under his bottom and stood, stepping back. These crates were a releif to lift and carry when empty.
         "You would make a great mother." Michael pointed out. Placing the empty crates in the cart, Isabella secured them and dusted her hands with a soft smile.
         "Not just yet."
         "I do not see why not." Michael scratched his chin and looked past Isabella to the men. "There are plenty of men out there asking of you." Despite her turned back, he knew she had heard him as she lead the mule away from him. It was true, plenty of men had gone to the blacksmith asking for her hand, however that was a few years back before they all realised how intimidating the man was. No one was worthy of the blacksmith's daughter.