The artisan district sat between the Guild quarter and the upper-class residential areas—a place where craftspeople worked and lived, where you could watch blacksmiths and woodworkers and jewelers practicing their trades. It was less formal than the Guild district, less ostentatious than the upper class neighborhoods. Just honest work happening in public view.
Marron liked it here. There was something comforting about watching people make things.
She was walking past a blacksmith's shop—the forge glowing orange in the evening light, the sound of hammer on metal ringing out—when she saw it.
A knife. On the grinding wheel.
The blacksmith was sharpening it with careful attention, holding it at a precise angle, the wheel throwing sparks as it refined the edge. And the knife itself—
Marron stopped walking. Stared.
