Frosted Iron

A smile crept to Caiside’s lips, a proper one. There was little that broke through the haze of his illness lately, but being able to hook Jigano into his tale, his history, proved to be something that did. ”He told... what I assumed was all he knew. He have been abandoned to the woods as a baby, and taken in by a band of elves.” He remembered Jigano had said his world had had other races as well, and didn’t pause to explain. ”All he had was his name, Reithdur, and a charm that had been holding together the furs he was swaddled in. So I agreed to accompany him. To help him.” As of that was the most natural, the most obvious action. Caisides hands paused in their work, growing still as a sidelong glance towards Jigano turned into a searching look. ”I understand. The man I learned from...” He didn’t say step father, refused to. ”...he was similar. At least as far as praise was concerned.” It wasn’t a good environment to learn in. He hoped, quietly, that he was doing providing a somewhat better second chance for the bard to learn in. He might not be particularly vocal with instructions, but his hands moved slowly enough to be followed easily, and he offered gentle corrections where they were needed. ”It sounds like you got your feet under yourself rather nicely, despite the difficulties.” Caiside pointed out, impressed. He focused back on the metal, teasing the beginning of an edge from it and watching the bright glow fade with each strike of his hammer. ”It’s good you found something you are happy with. Though...” Caiside shook his head, not wanting to ruin the smile on the bards face by talking about how they’d lost what had been. Caiside I have never been allowed to be Holy, I have never been forgiven for Wanting;