Drosten @pict-prodigy - Tumblr Blog

He made a grumbling kind of groan at the mention of the coming sun; that was certainly a heat he did not enjoy, though these days he thought of it more as an annoyance, interrupting his adventures. If it weren't for the sun, or his hunger, he likely would have stayed there for days, perhaps even longer, just listening to whatever stories the mountains and the river wanted to tell him.

But even for him, hiding in a house was far more attractive than hiding in the dirt, and if he really considered it, he wouldn't even have been able to remember the last time he'd spent much time in an actual house. What really convinced him however, was a singular word that stole his attention entirely and left him staring intently in the direction he pointed. "Forge? You have forge. I would like to see." He was grinning again now, his expressions shifting unnaturally with his sudden changes in emotion and without waiting for any further invitation, he started up the slope, following the curve of the river as if he knew exactly where he was going.

maggicktouched

"Yes." The curiosity reflected neither in his tone nor his face, but he noticed and delighted in the fact the stranger took interest in his forge.

"You work metal?" He asked and he was a little embarrassed that he did. No one had ever praised him for talking. For most of his human life, he'd been told it was no way for a man to behave, and after he'd been turned, it wasn't like the witches that imprisoned him were good for conversation. Oskar had always wanted him to talk, but was also content to fill the silence with humming or inoffensive chatter. Vasilii had never mastered that, but he could practically hear the voice of his daughter screaming in the back of his head to be nice, to smile, to ask questions. That was how you make friends. She said. Well---he was trying at least.

He lead the way up out of the valley to the rocky highland where his home sat silently among the dry grass whipping in the wind.

It was a very traditional old izba crafted from long fat logs that he'd shaped and stacked himself decades ago. For many years it'd been the dull gray of weathered wood, but recently it'd been painted blue with details drawn in a white that shone in the moonlight. Too fanciful for him, but his daughter liked it, and she was a woman---houses were women's things. He deferred to her. But the forge out back, made of stone and wood alike, had not been touched by the little witch. It had turned black over the years, and black suited him.

Vasilii led the way into the house first, waving a hand to guide the man. The inner rooms were warm to the point of stifling, decorated with thick rugs and quilts heavy enough to strain a mule's back. Vasilii pointed to a door on the far wall as he sat down in an arm chair slowly.

"Wash. They will fill bath for you." He said, and then, hearing his daughter's voice scolding him yet again in the back of his mind, tried to soften his tone and explain. "Forge has---magic. You must be clean going into."