"In the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years."
-Abraham Lincoln
–
Gwendolyn swung the sword, testing the weapon in his hand. The blacksmith watched him, keeping his expression stoic.
"Is it to your liking, your highness?" he asked after seeing Gwendolyn smile. The latter turned to him and had the servant with him toss a purse containing gold coins.
"Consider that as my reply," Gwendolyn answered, leaving the shop afterwards. The blacksmith weighed the money in his hand and sighed.
He considered Gwendolyn's figure disappearing from his shop, listening to the sound of metal clanking in the background.
A faint shuffling noise to his left caught the blacksmith's attention. He eyed the thin frame of a child appearing beside him.
"Why can't you say no to him, father? He never pays right," the innocent boy remarked. The blacksmith ruffled his hair, chuckling as he set aside the purse.
