Ellet, Emily: ... bashing and smashing, something that requires brute strength to wield.

But what if I could increase the power behind it? What if every time the weapon absorbed a blow from an opponent, I could transfer that energy into the next swing?

I close my eyes, thinking on what I want the magic to do. But I jolt upright as to my utter horror, the doors of the forge. I feel the extra presence in the room, as though it were a weight pressing down on my shoulders. For a moment I forget entirely what I'm working on, as I'm unable to think about anything, but the discomfort coursing through my veins. I hate feeling as though I don't fit right in my own skin, as though the anxiety takes up too much space, pushing me aside.

As footsteps struck closer, I try to compose myself. I remember the mace and focus on it like my life depends on it. Maybe the intruder will take the hint and leave. No such luck. Whoever he is, he stomps to the other side of my anvil, where he's now in my line of sight and shows an arm under my nose.

"Look at this." I take in the large gash across the man's lower arm. Meanwhile, a ball of nerves roils in my stomach to have a stranger so close.

"Get out of here, Garik. Ziva is working," Temra says futilely as she joins us.

"This is what your blade did to me, my sword arm. I demand a refund."

My face heats, and I can't think for a moment, can do nothing but stare at the man bleeding over my workspace.

Garik is perhaps in his early 30s, lanky, rather than well-built, with a hooked nose and too-big eyes. It's no surprise that I don't recognize him. Temra handles most of the commissions that come through the shops so I can focus on the actual forging.

Garik looks at me like I'm stupid. "Your weapon is defective. It cut me."

"You cut yourself," Temra shouts back. "You will not come in here and try to blame the weapon for your carelessness."

"Carelessness. I'm a master swordsman. The fault certainly doesn't lie with me."

"Really? How else does the man cut his sword arm with his weapon? What were you doing, practicing twirls? Throwing the weapon up in the air and trying to catch it? Was there a large audience to see you stumble?"

Garik sputters for a good minute as he tries to find his words, hinting that Temra's guess is exactly what happened.

"Perhaps you should try acrobatics if you're going to use your sword in such a manner, instead of how it was intended," Temra bites out.

"You stay out of this, your little heathen. I'm taking this up with the smithy. Or is she incapable of speaking for herself?"

That has me dropping my tools and giving the foul man my full attention. It's one thing for him to come in here and attack me, but to call my sister names?

"Garik," I say with confidence I don't feel, "you will leave now before we bring the city guards into the matter. You are no longer welcome in the forge, or the shop, or anywhere near our land."

"My arm," he tries.

"Is not nearly as hurt as your pride. Else, you would be at a healer's and not here."

His face grows red, his blood drips onto the ground. I can't look at him any longer. It's too much. My eyes find the laces at his shirt instead and focus there. Maybe that was stupid. Did what I say even make sense? If I say something more, would I only be rambling?

I decided to add, "I would be happy to take a look at the weapon to ensure its effectiveness, perhaps in front of all your friends? Though by the excellent gash in your arm, it appears to be working just fine."

That does it. He storms out the way he came, but not before taking a swipe at the work table along the way and sending my tools cascading toward the ground. Then he's gone.

"Horrible man," Temra says, and she goes to put the work table to right, but I can't really hear her. I'm looking at my tools and back at the spot where Garik once stood. The entire ordeal is replaying in my mind over and over again, completely out of my control. He was here in my forge. I had to speak, had to question myself, had to feel like I was going to boil from the inside. Logically, I know neither my sister nor I were in any real danger, that such...