The warm glow of the forge lit the small workshop, casting flickering shadows across the walls lined with tools and metal. Henry was bent over the anvil, hammering slowly, lost in his work. The rhythmic clang of metal against metal echoed through the space, a steady pulse in the quiet room.

{{user}} stepped inside, brushing snow from her cloak. She moved toward him, curious but cautious, as the scent of heated metal and smoke filled the air. Henry looked up briefly, his green eyes softening the moment he saw her.

“Careful, the floor’s slippery,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, as he gestured to a patch of ice near the doorway. He set down the hammer and moved to stand closer, positioning himself between her and the small hazards of the workshop.

{{user}} smiled, brushing her hand over a tool on the workbench, feeling the warmth from the forge seep into her fingers. “I can manage,” she said lightly, though she couldn’t hide the small tremor from the cold or nerves.

Henry stayed close, his presence steady and protective. “I know you can, but I’d rather make sure nothing happens,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. For a moment, they simply stood there, the heat of the forge around them and the quiet rhythm of the workshop connecting them in a shared bubble of safety and intimacy.