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Harreld
The morning dragged on slowly. The pain was not going away. It was worsening. All his hopes had been to share his life with Ginna; all that was gone, in a mere moment. He was determined not to stop his work, not to give into the pain. He set his face, clenched his teeth, and set himself a fierce pace with hammer and tong. It would not keep his thoughts in check - nothing could do that - but it would at least mask his pain from others.
The door opened. Now who? He stopped, his back still to the intruder.
“Have you a moment, young man? I have a request to ask of you, and a duty to fulfill for my lord Athanar.”
Harreld turned at the sound of the elderly voice, which did not quaver, but the years could be heard in it. It was Raban, Athanar's old smith. What Raban saw in his face seemed to startle him for a moment, but the old man collected himself.
"What is your request?" Harreld's voice sounded gruff in his own ears. He imagined that he must look as if he were in an unending rage, his eyes hard, his jaw set, a tightness in his cheeks. It could not be helped.
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