Hornet wiped the oil from her needle and wiped it with a clean cloth. It had been a while since she had last cared for her weapon, and she would rather it not be her who fails to maintain such a vital piece of her defense.
Directly across from her, the knight, who had stuck to her like a greedy hopper, watched on as she placed the cloth down. The two had taken up residence in a decently sized little home near Cornifer and Iselda. The only downside was that they could hear Zote chatter infernally to Bretta if the window was open, not that she ever would.
What are you doing?
She glanced at them. "Have you not ever cleaned your nail?"
They shook their head. Good god.
"Give it to me," she ordered. The nail was traded to her hands in seconds and the very first thing she noticed was the unusual chill radiating from it. Most metals were naturally cool to the touch, but this one almost appeared to sap as much heat from the environment as it could. What sort of material could this be?
That wasn't all. This particular nail might have been beautifully crafted to a degree she'd never seen, but that posed a problem. The unusual grooves carved into it might require specific care that she was not qualified to advise on.
"Ghost, who made this nail?"
They shrugged. She opened her mouth, closed it, then asked, "Was this nail, perhaps refined by someone you know?"
That must have been the right question, because they hopped up and pushed the door open. By the time she got up and looked out, they were walking toward the stag station. When she caught up, the bell had already been rung.
The thunder of legs pounding the beaten tracks echoed through the tunnel, and before she knew it, they were both riding on the last stag's back.
"Where are you going, little ghost?"
To Sheo's.
She had no idea who that was. "Is that the nailsmith?"
A headshake. Maybe she should stop asking questions until they go there.
Soon, a sweet smell began to permeate the still air of the tunnel. Greenpath, she'd wager. They both bid the stag thanks when they arrived, and descended downward and entered a long room filled with thick thorn-peppered vines and a corrosive acid lake at the bottom.
She took out her thread and fixed it to her needle. If this area needed to be traversed, she'll need to be prepared. Behind her, there was the light sound of flapping. She looked up and almost groaned.
There was secret path above them. She'd forgotten one of the biggest rules of wandering Hollownest: look for hidden paths.
The knight's face poked out from the top and beckoned. From there, it was simply a quick dash to the other side and some slight maneuvering till a house popped into view. The door wasn't even closed, signaling the confidence of either the owner's ability to defend it or the difficulty of reaching it in the first place.
Two figures sat huddled over a low table, a painting of the longhorned beetle propped up on a makeshift canvas holder made of old nails. It seemed rather improper to use weapons like that, but in the end, did it really matter?
The one with a white, three-pronged hat turned to them with a relaxed smile. "Oh, what do we have here? Quite the crowd we've amassed in our off the path home. Little wander, you've grown enough for my master to acknowledge you?"
The knight proudly held up the charm fastened to the inside of their cloak and he said, "Nailmaster's glory, that nearly makes me want to swing my nail once more, but alas, I have other, more important goals."
He gently nudged the beetle beside him. "Isn't that correct, Ashe?"
"Do I wish to request the implications, Sheo?" he replied, huffing.
A guttural laugh echoed throughout the room. The couple, she assumed, seemed to be artists of a variety of mediums, but she currently watched them carefully shape wedges of clay in their hands.
Those clay figures… were very familiar.
"Could that perhaps be Hegemol of the five great knights?"
Sheo blinked and turned to her. "I didn't expect to meet such a knowledgeable fellow here. Upon where did you find that information?"
"I've known them since I was a hatchling. It wouldn't do for one of my age not to."
The ghost tugged on her cloak. Should I too?
Ashe chose that exact moment to snort "What does that make me, then?"
"You don't count."
"Sorry?"
"Not you, them."
He tilted his head and followed her gaze. "Ah. I apologise. I was absorbed in crafting this Kingsmould and didn't see you, traveller. I must thank you for your actions when we met last."
"Last met?" Sheo inquired.
"They were the one who spared me."
Sheo nodded knowingly and straighten up. "I extend my deepest thanks to you as well. If it had not been for your actions, we'd have never met."
Stoic as the knight might have looked, Hornet knew they appreciated those words. Without warning, they jumped onto the other side of the table and scooped up a glob of clay. The couple returned to sculpting, leaving her to stand awkwardly at the entrance. She never had to deal with this sort of situation before and knew little of how to handle it.
It did not go unnoticed, though. Sheo looked up from his work and said, "Do you wish to join? We shall not shun you for doing so, in fact quite the opposite."
A lump of white clay was lifted into view. Ashe had held it out, looking on expectantly for a response.
"I'm afraid I am not the artistic sort, although I am skilled in weaving soul threads."
"Well, how much does that matter? You can always start anew, or nothing will ever change," Ashe replied. "Who knows? You might find a new calling like Sheo and me."
Hornet conceded. Taking the clay, she sat next to the knight, who had already slapped two circles together, the bigger one on the bottom. Just what should she make?
She sat there for a few moments, just watching everyone work. Slowly, her hands shaped several balls of varying sized and flattened them into discs-like shapes. They were stacked on top of one another with a slight point on the bottom. One long strand was rolled thin and sliced into 6 pieces, and one end of each were pressed into the left and right of main body, 3 on each side.
A piece of clay was rolled into a thin, flat circle and the edge slashed at to form a jagged edge like tattered cloth and placed on top of the body. Two cone-shaped pieces were then melded to it and curved like pincers.
Hornet stretched and stared at her creation with mixed feelings. It wasn't complete yet, but she hesitated somewhat to do so. It was then that she received a tap on the shoulder. She looked down.
A cracked mask faced her, worn somewhat from all the scratches and scrapes that never fully healed. How ironic that her mother's killer would be the one to comfort her.
She formed an oval with a small point, scooped out six eyeholes, and put it onto where the face should be.
Soon, the four watched on as the figurines baked in a makeshift oven (crafted by Ashe). They all turned out alright, even if some did droop a little. She looked at the one the ghost was waving around.
"What did you make?" she asked.
Sheo made a face and answered in place of them. "Ogrim. The exiled member of the six knights. He abandoned the Kingdom in the midst of the calamity."
He blinked as the knight pulled his arm.
He didn't.
"Evidently, they don't believe so," she said.
Knew our creation.
Hornet stood up a little straighter. "There seems to have been a circumstance you are not aware of that drove Ogrim to do as he did."
"How odd," Sheo replied. "It's almost as if you have an idea of what that was."
"I keep my secrets where I should."
"Understandable, I suppose. It seems I need to rethink my views of him then."
Hornet bowed. "It was a new experience for us to work on something new, and I we have taken advantage of your hospitality for long enough. I thank you for letting us partake."
"A non issue," Sheo waved off. "Feel free to visit any time you please, and don't forget to take your statues with you."
"And if you so desire, then come to Dirtmouth once in a while. It's on the surface above the crossroads and the location of our current dwelling."
Sheo nodded. "It can get stifling to remain here for great periods. We'll keep that in mind. Farewell, then."
The duo walked out, and the knight tilted their head at her.
"What is it now?"
They pointed at their nail, then at the entrance of the house.
… She forgot to ask about the their nail.
Poking her head back in, she said, "Excuse me, which one of you forged the ghost's nail?"
Ashe, eyes still on the clay figures, responded. "I was me."
"May I request information on how to care for it?"
He chuckled. "The pale ore in it makes it require only the most basic of cleaning. Just make sure nothing gets caked on for too long and the nail should retain its fatal edge for an eternity."