And the less people knew the better.
But that was the lie they told themselves. A fabricated reason for their discomfort. Yes, they were still factors to it – but they were considerably minor in comparison to the real reason.
Their back was on the bed, blanket pulled up around them, shirt covering their form. The chest rose and fell, the green orbs blinking at the sloping ceiling – they inevitably locked onto a cobweb that nested in the corner. The healing injuries gave a complaint, tightening and tensing before easing. The stitches may have been gone, but the pain was still very much there. Angry lines of healing injuries, scarring over and leaving tiny dots where the knots once laid. The removal hardly hurt, but the reminder of what could have been lingered. Fear had become their bedfellow. It found them in the darkest of nights, chased them through the shadows of restless dreams, whispering into their ears. It haunted them, relentless in its pursuit.
Scars ever served as a reminder of what was and what could have been.
A bell sounded somewhere in the distance, echoing out across the city as the time was tolled.
Gale sighed and rose from the warmth. The air was cold; the shoulder gave a complaint as the chill pinched at it. Stiffly, the left was rolled with the fingers of the right massaging into it as they surveyed the space they called their bedroom. Binding, clothing, it was all tugged on in the low light before they left. Across the threshold of their better described apartment, they took the wrought iron spiral steps down into the street level forge below.
Heat still lingered here, the embers of yesterday floating through their business. As the lanterns were lit, the glow cast across the forge grew. Poker tended to fire, better arm pulled against the bellows. A rush of air, the embers grew, growing warm against the cold, the lighter kindling pieces beginning to smoulder and burn. Another pull, the same rush chased through the piping as heat spilled out. The chill that threatened to sink in was chased away, a warm numbing flickering against their features.
They stopped when they heard the crackling, withdrawing to move around the rest of the forge. Fingers traced against tools, the left attempting to rise a distance above the waist – it complained and refused. They had been warned enough about pushing themselves, told they needed to let it heal. An easier said than done statement when their livelihood was dependent on physical labour.
Round to the front they opened the furthest pair of street doors, hooking them back and allowing passage way into the building proper. It was still dark outside, the long nights upon them now. But that did not excuse them from working. More so as they had acquired a willing victim to aid them. From the front they paused at the displays, checking the molds were as they were, that things were still where they had been left, before returning to the heat of the coals. Stool pulled up, they took a perch and quietly waited for what the day brought them.