( Amanda's POV, The Old Granny's Smithy )
Amanda wiped the sweat from her brow as she stood before the roaring forge, its intense heat wrapping around her like a super warm blanket.
Her hands moved with practiced precision, hammer striking anvil in a rhythmic dance that sent sparks flying into the dimly lit workshop.
She seemed to be pounding a mass of molten metal, some alloy or iron since the room smelled distinctly like iron and coal while she worked.
In the corner of the room, a frail figure sat hunched over, coughing weakly into a handkerchief.
The old granny, Amanda's mentor and a former master forger, watched with tired but sharp eyes as she assessed Amanda's movements.
Her skin was pale and wrinkled, each breath a laborious effort, yet her gaze never wavered from her protégé.
