The upper forge sat cut into the mountain above the road, its chimney mouths breathing orange heat into the morning. Ferra walked through its gate with Kerris's folded invitation in her apron pocket and Hajin swaggering along at her elbow.
"Guest, he wrote, like I'm some cousin at a wedding," he muttered, squinting up at the stamped arch, "do guests get lunch?"
"Guests get fed if they keep their fingers off the tongs."
"My fingers are very polite, they only steal things that deserve it."
Juna stopped beside the yard gate, her nose lifting toward a smoke-stained kitchen shed, "I'm staying out here with the bread."
"There's no bread."
"There's always bread, you just can't smell it, so go be clever inside and shout if somebody needs biting."
'Kerris wants my method, and I want to see what his walls are made of.'
