The doors of the forge are thrown open, all the better to enjoy the morning air. Dejah is in the process of feeding charcoal into the throat of the forge. There's already smoke coming out the top of the forge, and the red glow of the flame reflected on her copper skin. Her cheek is smudged with coal dust and her hands are black.

From across the yard, she hears Woola chuff out a greeting, and she looks up to see Curtis.



Her face splits in a high voltage grin, bright enough to power a small city in the dead of winter.