It was winter, but inside in front of the forge it was as hot as ever. Shu-fang didn’t bother to wipe off her brow, beating her hammer down in a rhythmic fashion that had once been cathartic, but now was simple. As per usual, everything was quiet outside of her fire and her metal. It wasn’t as though anyone else was in here.
She had made more horseshoes than needed today, it seemed. The practice was good, but she would have to melt some down for the metal. Only so much would sell. Shu-fang wasn’t too bothered about it. All she knew was that she was still counting the days, much as she counted her strokes.
For a community that hadn’t had gods ever involved with their ground, they were quite spiritual. They didn’t question her presence, but there was something they had she was lacking. Despite having dwelt here for half a year, Shu-fang wasn’t certain what it was. Probably a sense of community. However, she knew it would take her longer to attain that state then would be safe for her to remain. People didn’t believe in immortality anymore.
Good. Shu-fang thought it was for the best they didn’t find it real.