When she walked into the smelting area, she was met with a scene of bustling activity.
The scorching air rushed toward her, carrying the scent of metal and charcoal.
The clang of iron echoed one after another, as if composing a rough symphony of labor.
In the ironworks, crimson molten iron churned in the furnace, while blocks of formed metal were stacked neatly to one side, reflecting a dull sheen under the firelight.
Finn was drenched in sweat, wielding a heavy sledgehammer over something—each strike sending sparks flying, a chef's knife slowly taking shape beneath the pounding.
Today Caleb had gone with Malachi to hunt wild bulls and sheep, so this forge work fell to Finn.
Finn always helped out in the smelting area, and he knew his way around making farm tools and iron implements.
At worst, he still had Luna's blueprints, already etched into templates—just hammer them out accordingly.
It didn't take much skill, just a lot of muscle.
