Kaelira didn't so much as break rhythm, as if fully used to it.
She drew, struck, folded, and turned with two meters of half-naked primordial hanging off her torso like the world's most decorated apron, and her only acknowledgment of him was leaning back into his chest a degree on the long draws.
'No, not only is she used to it... She prefers it!' many female apprentices squealed inwardly, suddenly feeling an overwhelming urge to try a certain unorthodox crafting style themselves.
"Is he..." a master began, scandalized on at least four separate levels.
"What in the Ancestors' name is he doing," Brokk said flatly.
"Charging up," Quinlan replied, not moving an inch. "It's part of the process."
"..." The First Hammer of the royal smithy opened her mouth, found nothing in the entire dwarven language up to the task, and closed it.
