Making an entire smithing method from scratch proved to be ever so slightly problematic. Seconds turned to minutes as Arwin leaned against the anvil, his brow furrowed in deep contemplation. He rolled an ingot of steel in his palm idly. Sweat had long since soaked his shirt and the smell of hot sulfur and metal had ingrained itself into his clothes like a second skin. Wallace had taken to banging away at something in the corner of the smithy — Arwin wasn’t sure if the dwarf was actually doing anything productive or if he was just bored and trying to pass the time. Finding what comes naturally to me is easier said than done. There are a lot of different interpretations of natural. Is it the one that comes easiest? That would have been just relying on the Mesh for everything. Nothing was easier than turning his own brain off and just swinging where and when the Mesh told him to. That was obviously the wrong path. He’d figured that out long before meeting Wallace. Any path he took had to be one he forged himself. The Mesh’s guidance was nothing more than a tool. Arwin refused to let it become a crutch again. Not the easiest path, then. But what else? The thing that feels the most comfortable? But how different could that even get? Wallace made it seem like Dwarven Smithing is really unique to everyone, but how unique can you get when you’re just swinging a hammer? Arwin wasn’t typically a betting man. But, in this case, he was more than willing to bet that Wallace had more in mind than him just smacking metal with a hammer normally. There had to be something more to it. Heaving out a huff of air, Arwin pushed himself upright and stood up. He brushed himself off and wiped his brow with the back of a sleeve as he studied the flat face of the anvil waiting for him. There was one thing for certain. He wasn’t going to make any progress just sitting around and thinking. He’d never been one for that. Lillia was a better planner than he was. He was just good at doing. “You avoid making a mistake?” “You avoid becoming yourself,” Wallace corrected. “Mistakes are inevitable. Failure is the road which leads to success. You’ll never get anywhere without screwing up.” “I’d normally completely agree with you, but I don’t exactly have infinite time or chances here.” Arwin set the ingot down on the anvil and crossed his arms. “Or have you forgotten we’re going to have to fight if you don’t like what I make?” “See, there’s your problem.” Wallace shook his head. “Let’s think this through, oaf. Between you and that lass of yours, who makes the better plans?” “Lillia. No doubt about it.” “Very good. That is because she is not a smith. She’s a schemer, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But when you’re in a fight — when do you perform best? When you’re trying to come up with some fancy plan?” “I try to leave that to Lillia as of late. I’m better at just hitting things,” Arwin admitted. “I don’t think I’m that bad at plans, but—” “Don’t want to hear it.” Wallace lifted a hand and shook his head. “I’m not satisfied with ‘not that bad’. Are you? Is that all you aspire to be?” “No.” Arwin blew out a breath. “Of course not.” “Right. So you know what gets you the best result in a fight. Fighting.” Wallace beat a hand against his chest. “Plans are important, but you aren’t the best at making them. That’s why we don’t fight alone. Everyone fulfills their role. Do you understand?” “Yes. I’ve had a similar discussion with them before,” Arwin admitted. “But what does this have to do with me not thinking about what I’m doing? Planning and making sure I don’t get myself killed because I jumped into something are two very different—” “We agree that you find yourself best served doing what it is you are actually good at, and that following passion and instinct serves you better than thinking everything through for an hour under normal circumstances. Am I correct?” “Well, yes. Under normal—” “What makes you think that suddenly changes because you’ve only got one chance?” Wallace cut Arwin off once again and arched an eyebrow. “If you find the best results when you act on instinct in every other scenario, then why do you think it’ll suddenly change just because you’ve got less time? It’s the same damn scenario. Nothing is different.” Arwin blinked. His mouth parted slightly, then closed. He couldn’t think of anything to refute the dwarf’s words. “I — huh. I suppose you’re correct.” Wallace smirked and clapped Arwin on the shoulder. It would have been a bit easier to take him completely seriously if he hadn’t had to stand on the tips of his toes to reach it. “I generally am. Nothing wrong with planning. Nothing wrong with following passion — but there is something wrong with trying to make yourself something you aren’t. There’s a time for thinking. This ain’t it.” With that, Wallace turned and headed back to his corner of the smithy. Arwin stood by the anvil, a thoughtful expression on his face as he watched the dwarf leave. He looked back down to the bar of steel lying in wait. No planning… I don’t know. When I fight on my own, I do end up performing the best when acting on instinct. But when Lillia is there to help plan things out and give us a real strategy, I’m even more effective. Maybe coming up with a complete plan myself isn’t the right move, but I got incredible results when I worked together with her. Arwin’s eyes widened as an idea rolled through his mind. That was it. The advantage he had that no other smith did. Working with Lillia — but not just her. If he could do it with Lillia, then he could do it with others. Other people… and other things. “I can speak with materials,” Arwin muttered to himself as a light lit behind his eyes. “Not just the ones I’m smithing, but the ones I’m using.” “What was that, boy?” Wallace asked.