Ficharn flicks his eyes at me. One silver, the other green. Both trouble. Always.
“Whatcha doin?” he asks upside down from the burnt out oak Father should’ve removed before he died. “You knittin’ again? For dem fellas?”
“I’m smithing,” I reply tiredly as another spark stings my skin. “Knitting’s for girls.”
“Well you be one of them. Got all the parts. Big ovals hanging out and everything. That’s what Ricky says.”
I turn on him, magical hammer in hand, and glare. He’s not afraid, he just smiles.
Brothers, I think as I turn back to the blade. “Ricky says he likes them bigger,” I admit. “I asked. Told me it was all him. That I’m wonderful,” I bang the hammer on the piece of steel I’m working on and ignore additional burns I get because of it, “but I’m not… I’m not his type. That he’s working things through.”
There’s a soft pitter-patter on the grass behind me. The lightness of my brother’s feet. The lightness of a born Furlurn. “Boys be like that,’ he says. “Lying, manipulative things. You be better off without him.”
“I know.” I do a double tap to put a groove in the steel. I can only do them when I’m angry and now’s a good time. Especially with the East Wind up. It’ll help me make a good water blade.
Ficharn’s chin rests on my shoulders as he looks down at the sword. “I be killing him for you, if ya want. Be silent as the rain.”
“No,” I whisper. I double tap it again. “It’s storm time Fich, we need friends in this weather. And killing him, it would cause us problems.”
His left eye starts to glow silver. Shivers go up my spine. “Oh, it ain’t us be having the problems in storm time Shell. It be them. It be them now.”
I bang the blade twice as the wind whips around us once more, stronger this time. “No,” I want to argue back. “No,” I want to tell him and that we need shelter and allies, but he’s right. It is storm time and we’re not the ones who should be afraid. They should be. All of them.