Morsels #2

There it is, I think as I hitch my saddlebags a little further up. The building I'm looking at is a squat wooden affair with few walls. I'd call it a lean-to, but the sign stuck out front clearly says "Ball Peng's Smithy" and I wouldn't want to be disrespectful.

Dust rises from the road in small puffs as I trot into the shade of the roof. Hitching my bags up again, I take a glance around the small shop. A discolored anvil sits a little further in. It's flanked by a table holding hammers, tongs and other beaten-up tools. Looks like he isn't here.

"Hello?" I call out. "Is anypony around?"

Not receiving an answer, I blew out a huff. Of course I'd show up on his day off. It's okay, I can just come back. I half-turned, about to walk out, when I noticed the furnace was still on.

He must be here, but do I go find him or wait? I hitched up my saddlebag again. I wish it would stop sliding down.

The sound of crunching gravel caught my attention. A dark-grey earth pony was walking toward the little shop with a piece of twisted metal in his mouth. Tucked behind his right ear was a small hammer, the handle swaying with each stride.

"Oh, hello, sir," I say, "I'm looking for Ironshod."

"Mmm," he said, smiling around his burden.

He placed the scrap in the furnace and gave the bellows a couple of puffs. Spinning back to me, he said in a voice quavering with age, "Now, what do you need, gal?"

Tucking the saddlebag flap behind my wing, I rummaged through the various vegetables to find the bowl. I placed it on the anvil. "Can you fix this?"

He picked the bowl up and turned it over in his hooves. "Ah. It's cracked. Hmm, pretty thin though." Flipping it into the furnace beside the scrap, his head swiveled toward a pile of bent metal strips in the corner. I wonder if always having that hammer on your head hurts, I thought.

"Ah, here you are," he said, pulling a bit of shiny steel out of the mess.

Tossing it into the furnace as well, he gave the bellows another squeeze. "Shouldn't be a minute, gal," he said.