Within the Smithing Hall, students worked diligently at their forges, their faces illuminated by the orange glow of the furnaces.
Among them was a girl who stood out for her medium height and petite body, but what was more remarkable was her strength and resilience. Her name was Anya, Anya Fawger.[1]
Her hammer, heavier than most students could manage, moved with a rhythmic grace in her small hands. Each swing landed true, shaping the glowing metal with a confidence that belied her size. Sweat beaded on her forehead, catching the firelight like scattered diamonds.
The other students, mostly burly men, watched her with a mix of admiration and amusement. One, a giant of a fellow with a beard like burnt toast, chuckled.
"Doesn't look like it takes much muscle, Anya, but you sure are making that piece sing!"
