#baronyofthesilverwolf

She dims.

"They're not failures, though."

"Should these marvelous shoes be melted, just because they are not what I dreamt that the raw material might become?"

"No... I mean, I mean, maybe she owes you for the silver if you paid for the materials, but... but... but you shouldn't... they're good. Can't you see that? Look how those edges bevel? Like, clean..." She shows him, pointing to it.

He leans in to look, but also takes hold - wrapping his hands around her hands that hold the horseshoe.

"You bristle so readily in defense of someone you have never met. Harness that fire - and stoke it to your own battles. You are worthy, Katrina. You are of Silverwolf now, and that means that you are part of my Barony. I will NOT have anyone belittling or trashing the work of any of my craftspeople. And that includes you... and that includes, by you."

"But you don't even know me..."

"And you do not know Craftswoman Willy. You did not need to know her to recognize her worth. I recognize yours. In the shape of your soul, in the fate that brought you to my Hold."

He presses glamour through his hands into hers, and into the horseshoe that she still holds, until the silver gleams. "Lift the horseshoe into the air, and look through it."

His words, not quite a request, but a little short of an order.

She obeys - it's easy to obey the sidhe lord.

That warm fuzzy energy, that feeling like sinking her hands into fresh clay, like when capturing a sunset in a pattern, of the blast of heat from the kiln, envelopes her again.

As she looks through the rounded shoe, she sees... not the workshop in front of her but... a dream? An image, a possibility?

It's a building, not a fancy one, but a comfortable one. It's a bit of a mess, but again, a comfortable mess. Shelves lined with sculptures in different stages of drying... a wheel stained and dusty from spinning... a splash of color, a nook filled with paints and easel... and there, a kiln - no. TWO kilns, side by side. One shining and lined in metal, with brass finishings and steam valves and meters, the other beyond vintage, back to antique, possibly even ancient style, hardly more than a brick mound, but lined with ornately decorated tiles, each one a story in and of itself. A bench with tools that she doesn't even recognize - is that a clamp, sure, some weird wrenches - a blow torch??

As soon as she takes it in, it's fading, the details swimming away, melting together like puddled paints being washed off a board, and disappearing. She remembers it, in form if not in detail, but it's no longer in view...

Blinking!

"That's furkin' baller... I mean, that... where's that?"

"What did you see?" He looks at her curiously.

"Oh, this )&#in' amazing workshop... there were shelves to dry on the left, and a wheel, and a nice work table, and..." Describing, with gestures. (And more curse words to pepper it up)

"That was an Omen. A vision of what might be. Your vision, of what might be. Would you like a workshop like that?" He asks, not really questioning the answer.

"Shit, yeah... I mean, yes. I'm sorry, I keep... it just (*&^@ slips out..."

"(&@&!"

He looks mildly amused as he waits for her to finish.

"As I said, it was an omen. A hint of the future. That which may be. Now, are you willing to work for that potential? If the prize is what you saw, and seek?"

"Hell yes, I want that..."

He nods to her. "Then it will be. We will start tomorrow. For now, you'd best return home. Last night has been cleared for you - your parents will believe that you had a night away... I expect they will fill in the logical answer. A friend's house, perhaps."

Shimmering spirals and she nods excitedly. "I can work, you'll see!"

"Thank you!"

He nods in approval. “Good. I look forward to seeing your work, Craftswoman Thistle.”

She glows a bit. "That's... well, that's not bad, is it?"

“No.” He nods. “Mind you, you will not be gifted this, you will earn it. That way you will know what is truly yours and we will learn what you are capable of.”

"I'm not afraid of work." A pause. "I'm not a servant, right?"

He considers this for a moment. “It is not an insult to be a servant. Your waiter, your housekeeper , your taxi driver, they are all serving at a job for a wage granted. But, no, you would be what we call a ‘vassal’. A subject granted rights and responsibility under our rule, and with responsibility and deference in return. Consider the respect owed a teacher.”

A pause, and he frowns. “NOT your ‘teacher’. Trust, we will ensure he is dealt with.”

"Because of Demesne... since you own this place?" She bites her lip and nods.

"Rather, you are neither servant nor vassal. You are a Fledge, as is young Arthur. It is our responsibility to teach you what you need to know. Provide you with the tools you need to learn, and ensure that you have the skills that you will need to survive. Our world is magical and wonderous, but also awesome and terrifying.

The Escheat is what separates kithain from lawless creatures. It is your duty, and your shield.

Yes, I do own this place. I am your liege lord. But I do not own you, no more so than a mayor owns their constituents."

He is, perhaps, glossing over a little, but she's so fresh and new.

She listens carefully, paying attention. Another nod.

"Lavender said I should get lessons, for a year."

"Correct. We will teach you about the Fae, your kind, and our world. You will learn of magic and wonders and terrors, and..." A small smile. "Perhaps a little crafting as well, and chores in return. In return, we expect you to listen, learn, and respect those who teach you.

However, you will not be expected to grovel, beg, or be trod upon, insulted or injured, poorly treated or assaulted. That is my responsibility to you - to teach, and to protect."

Meanwhile, someone is approaching. A car is pulling up, and the horn toot-toots outside of the workshop.

"Sounds fair enough."

He reaches out, and offers her something. To mortal eyes, just a small clip. But to her, it is a black badge a rearing wolf and stars in silver. "If you see any other fae, let them know that you are under the Protection of Silverwolf."

Bluebell is driving, and Arty is in the back seat already, and has a similar badge in hand.

She takes it, giving it a quick evaluation before pinning it to her vest.

It's a pretty neat design, she thinks it might look better if it was actually embossed in silver on leather and not just silk and thread.

Her fingers twitch, itching to put the idea down. "Thank you."

Arty is trying to not look like he's never been in a car before. He reaches to toggle the window down, then up, and down again.

A curious finger poke at a button, and music blasts - Bluebell blessedly switches it off before he fumbles for more than a moment! "Oh, not that station." She explains, explaining nothing.

"I guess I'll be back? Unless this really has been some furkin' dream." A lopsided grin and she heads for the car. "Arty!"

"Ah? Yes. Katrina. Miss Bluebell has just been explaining to me about this vehicle." He looks suitably impressed.

"Yeah? What, it a hybrid or something? So, holy (&^%2&^! What a night! How are you doing? You look good!"

He considers Katrina for a moment, then nods. "This will suffice. Not ideal, but it will work out. Better than the alternative."

It's not just looks, but posture, everything. This Arty looks far better relaxed with his collar loose, than the squirrelly teen ever did tucked in and buttoned up.

Hair loose and mussed, not combed back too severely..

"Than staying there? Yeah. It's nice, but my Mom'll freak out if I didn't make it home."

"I wonder if things'll be different at school? I'm not kidding on the looking good. You made stars! That's gotta be something when the bimblesnapes start bagging on you."

"Bimble...snapes?" Arty looks fairly baffled. "Of course I look good. How could I not? I am of the Lords of Arcadia."

He remembers her - or his host does. Comparing that, to her new fae mein. "Being a Nocker suits you." He offers.

"I'm still figuring out what all this is. Lavender said you're a sheeeeee."