[Mithalwen]

Losrian was the first of the household to surface. This was not unusual in the winter months when her sole chance of a little daylight time was just before she started work. The air had a hint of frost and she wrapped herself in her dressing gown before running downstairs from her small chamber, trusting on speed rather than shoes to keep her feet from the cold of the stone slabs of the stairs and kitchen floor. Nevertheless she was glad to wriggle her toes in the sheepskin hearthrug. Laswen's family farmed in the outlands and this small luxury was one of the benefits. She knew her path well enough in the dark and mindful of the need for thrift only lit one candle to guide her preparation of the fire. As soon as it was lit she set the kettle on the stove. She got the breakfast things ready, butter, honey, the herbs for tisane and cut a thin slice of cheese and took just one store apple and wrapped them in a muslin cloth, ready for her midday meal. By now the water was nearing the boil and she poured some into an ewer mixed with cold to wash in and ran back upstairs. Although she dressed swiftly - having grown somewhat since the last cold winter she had a small choice of garments that were warm, fitted properly and were suitable for her work - and tied her hair in the simplest braid, her brother was sitting in the kitchen when she went back down toasting the old bread. He poured her a cup of tisane.

"Off to work so early, Los? I thought you said Lady Narisiel would not be there this morning? I hope my apprentices will be so diligent.."

"If you can ever find anyone who wants to learn ... may be someone who none of the smiths will take.." his sister responded cheekily. Ferin gave her a long, hard stare but refused to take the bait.

" I am going to take my wife some tea. " He said, evenly then noticing her frugal lunch added "things aren't so desperate that you have to starve yourself yet - you are still growing"

"Yes, Ada" replied Losrian in mock obedience, earning another 'elder brother' stare from her sibling. " I hope I don't grow more - I am not trying to catch you up'". At six feet she was already tall and her brother was a good hand taller.

Left alone again, Losrian consulted her notebook while she ate and drank. Then with the first light filtering in through the shutters she took the fresh baked bread from the oven, and having cut some for herself prepared to leave.

She retraced her steps of the evening before, making hte detour back to the buttes. Her breath vapourised in the air and she wrapped her hands around the still warm bread. She had rather more time for her trials of arrows than last time but she became a little self conscious when she realised that a couple of the sentries on the ramparts, bored with gazing out had turned their gaze inward to watch. She was a good enough shot but it was affecting her aim - especially when she realised one of the sentries was Artamir. Time for work she decided and trying to make it look as if her departure had nothing to do with being watched, she packed up her things as casually as she could and walked away with a careless air.

With still a little time to spare she lingered by the windows in the shops of Rath Celebdain. The work is lovely but seems a little frivolous with war threatening. Nevertheless, Losrian wonders if she will ever equal their art. One of the many advantages of her apprenticeship was that Narisiel was skilled in all types of smithing and Losrian would not be limited to one metal for her studies.

As she opened the atelier and prepared the forge for the day's work she remembered her first visit there, when she had sought apprenticeship. Narisiel had asked her - as her brother and father had done - why she wished to be a smith when there was a fine family tradition of working wood. She had replied

"When you work wood you must shape it according to it's nature, its grain shapes the work not your will. Metal may be shaped to your will. with wood you are the slave, with metal the master".

"And do you seek mastery, Losrian?" Narisiel had asked with a catch in her voice.

"Only of metal, my lady".

As soon as the forge had heated she became absorbed in the work in hand and ceased wandering in memory.