Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.
Author's Note: So I was planning to space out the updates a little bit but I was so excited about this piece that I decided to post this second chapter literally an hour after I posted the first, haha. But after this, there will be a steady, even stream of updates. Please enjoy.
Interlocking
Chapter Two: Crafting
"'How did you learn to make your own bows?' She purses her lips in nostalgic thought for a moment." – Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.
"Ironbark?" the requisitions officer laughs. "Yeah, sure. Got bundles of it actually. Came in with our shipment of fine Orlesian silks and dragon scales."
Harding frowns at the tall woman crossing her arms before her. "I was just asking. No need for the stick up your ass."
The requisitions officer narrows her eyes and flares her nostrils at the rogue dwarf.
Harding rolls her eyes and walks away, past the recently pitched tents and potions chests of the camp. She walks to the ledge just past the established camp and looks out over the beach of the Storm Coast. She sighs and releases some of the pent up tension in her clenched fists, her arms going slack beside her. She watches the waves roll in and crash against the sand.
"What would you do with ironbark anyway?"
Harding turns at the question and finds Krem stepping up the grassy bank toward her.
She releases a soft laugh. "Probably whack that overpaid, stuck-up requisitions officer over the head to start." She turns to look back out at the sea.
Krem chuckles and settles beside her, leaning on one leg, his hand resting lightly and comfortably on the hilt of his sword at his waist. "And then?"
She glances at him. "I was hoping to craft a new bow. Mine hasn't been pulling tight enough since we left the Fallow Mire. I think all that rain has soaked in and stretched the wood. Ironbark, though, holds up well enough when wet."
Krem cocks a brow at her. "You fashion your own weapons?"
She quirks a smile his way and crosses her arms. "Sometimes. It's kind of a passion of mine. I don't have the touch of a smithy, really. But I know what works best with my hands and my skill and I can make something sturdy enough to fit my needs."
"How did you learn to make your own bows?"
She purses her lips in nostalgic thought for a moment. "I used to herd sheep for my neighbor. Her husband was a Redcliffe soldier, one of the Arl's. He taught me when I was younger. And I guess I kind of held onto it. Especially after that undead craziness during the Blight. Had no use for it 'til now though."
Krem finds the idea of her carving her own bow suddenly endearing. The furrow he imagines to her brow. The quick and efficient work of her hands. The triumphant smile he expects when she finishes.
"I don't know," the dwarf shrugs. "It's just nice I guess, to wield something of your own creation. Kind of inspiring really, when in the heat of it and all." She chances a look at him and finds him watching her, the faint lilt of a smile pulling at his lips. "What?"
He shakes his head and looks back at the sea before them. "Nothing. I mean, makes sense. I only wish making a blade was something I had a head for. Seems only wielding is to be my talent."
"Eh," Harding shrugs, watching the waves. "You pass at it."
Krem laughs and turns to her, arms crossed. "Oh, I just pass, is it?"
Harding rolls her eyes. "Enough to get the job done."
Krem levels a mock stern gaze on the rogue. "I'll have you know, we Chargers are the greatest advance guard you'll ever have the pleasure of working with."
"Hmm," she muses playfully. "I wasn't talking about the Chargers really."
Krem catches her meaning and scoffs, but it is punctured by the laugh bubbling up his throat. "Alright then, Scout Harding. I was going to offer you the stock of ironbark the Chargers were saving back at Haven, but now…"
She turns to him, mouth agape, arms swiftly uncrossed from her chest. "Oh, you are so horrid"
He laughs at her. And it feels freeing and natural and warm.