Amythra 41

"You're Arrow? Arrow Mufger the smith?" Amythra knew he was without asking, but couldn't stop herself.

The borc looked behind him. "Unless I'm in the wrong building again." Arrow looked at Amythra's companions and he brow furrowed when he saw Roose and Boose. "What...uh...what can I do for you, young womume?"

"This is from my father." Amythra opened the olive-wood box revealing the master work sword handle. The black ivory shined, even under torchlight, and Anna Goldeyes gasped. It was the complex detail that made her back away. The carving was small, precise, and detailed, as if an army of Mume and Borc were shrunk down and turned to bone. Crow Whale Ivory was hard and sturdy, like granite, and such a carving would've taken skill and time and time and skill. So much of both. "He said this was his eighth attempt. He apologizes for taking three months."

"Good gracious me." The borc exclaimed, not looking at the box or it's content. "You must be Burret's little womume." He stepped around the counter and picked up Amythra. As if examining a doll and turned her left, then right. "HAW!" And then he gave her a bear hug, ruining her cloths with forge soot and wet borc hair smell. "Little Amtree!"

"Amythra." She corrected.

"Same thing." He held her up again and marveled. "Why, I hadn't seen you since you had only a...a hand full of seasons." He put her down and suddenly shifted his mood to business. "What's this, then? Why isn't Marvate here?"

Amythra gave Goldeyes a look, as if asking for help. "He's...joined the war, Mr. Mufger."

"Bah." Arrow threw his hands in the air and rounded tot he other side of the counter again. "Idiot. Anyway, it's Arrow, Amtree, an let me look at this."

"It's Amythra. Not Amtree."

"Yes yes."