Timestamp: 15th of Winter, 516 A.V.
She was tall, thick, and well-built. Red hair curled around her rosy cheeks, cheeks which marked a resemblance to the young, now man, who leaned against a counter while the woman watching throw a coinpurse into a satchel bag.
"Just watch the shop," Ruth said. "We're close to out when it comes to iron and the shits are late on our order again."
"What's going down there gonna do?" Bandin asked.
No one was straight honest and dutiful in Sunberth. Not even the ex-knights from Syliras. Everything was crooked or moldy, if not both. Nothing at all ran on time.
"Remind them we exist," Ruth said as she passed him.
"Long walk for a regular hello."
"Squeaky wheels get greased," the blacksmith said; she picked up a mallet from the shop bar, before exciting into the front of the shop proper.
Bandin raised an eyebrow at the mallet. "That's a proper point."
Ruth smiled and looked back from the door. "Aye."
The entrance thudded closed.
The boy was left to look around as the lonesomeness set in. He walked with relaxation to snag a thick chair from where it was tucked, before setting it firmly behind the bar.
Well, business might or might not run today, Bandin mused.
Ruth likely didn't expect him to run the bellows today, then, not without her supervision--though she had been giving him more and more leeway to operate independently of her as the past few years had gone by.
He could do the responsible thing, then, and practice some smithing. She probably wouldn't be mad, likely not even notice or mention it unless she came back to him in the act.
Maybe in a minute, then.
He couldn't leave the store. That'd get her right pissed. So he was stuck.
No adventure today.
Alone.
She probably wouldn't be back for hours.
Bored.
She might even go out and have fun herself.
Bandin looked up to the ceiling. Blinked.
"Shit."