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Harreld held up the fixed ladle and examined it closely; Ginna, too, looked at it, and smiled proudly. He really was good at his work. The smith turned his eyes toward her just in time to catch her expression, and she quickly turned back to the fire. From the corner of her eye she saw Harreld put aside the ladle and take another misshapen one, but she could not see his face.
Bellowsmaiden. That was what he called her. Ginna turned the word over and over in her head, trying to see how it fit. What did he mean? Was that all she was to him? Did he really think that the daughter of Randvér would be contented with such a job - with such a role? Ginna was surprised to realise that it did not matter much to her. For the here and now, if that was how she could help Harreld, why not?
Ginna saw that Harreld was preparing to fix the ladle in his hand and took her chance; she did not want him to break it again. "If you will have me, I can be your bellowsmaiden so long as you need one."
Harreld looked at her, surprised. Ginna held his gaze.
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