[Folwren]

Saeryn woke from a troubling dream. For a moment, she lay on her back, her arm draped over her forehead, thinking about it. Then she drew a breath and glanced outwards. It was already light outside. She had over slept. Her conscience told her to hurry and get out there and start the day's work, but the dream had stirred something in her memory.

She got up and knelt down beside her bed where her saddle and saddle bags lived. She lifted the blankets and moved the saddle. Lying beneath them was the old scabbard which held her short sword. She picked it up and drew the sword. Although clean, the blade was dull and marred with a couple small nicks. She decided after a moment what to do, and thrust it back into its sheath.

Quickly, she dressed and went out, carrying the sword with her. She hoped no one noticed her as she carried it across camp to Harreld’s smithy. She knocked on the wooden door frame, peering through the open door. The smith turned and came forward to greet her.

“Good morning, Harreld,” she said in reply to him. “I was wondering...I don’t know if you’re able, or if you’ve ever done anything like it, but...” she pulled her sword into view and drew it from the scabbard. “This ol’ thing has seen better days, and last time it was used, it didn’t fair too well. Do you think...” she was almost afraid to ask, in case she would be disappointed. She put the sword forward a little, hilt towards Harrled. “Do you think you can sharpen it again?”