Max spends several minutes lightly banging his head against the tree he had first faced upon returning to the woods. “Why now? Why couldn’t it have been like ten minutes, no fifteen minutes later? After I had eaten lunch? Urgh!” Talking to himself, Max gives up and turns, putting his back against the tree, taking a deep breath.

  For a moment, his mind races down the path of the almost forgotten adventure he had experienced the last time he appeared in the woods. Max reaches into his pockets and sorts through what he has on him. “A pack of gum, a pencil, two pens, an eraser, some coins, his new wallet with only his school ID and a five-dollar bill in it, my watch, and the small travel compass clipped to my belt, my mom got me a while back.”

  When he tries to touch the compass, he only then realizes he is wearing a very tight leather belt with a dagger hanging from the left hip. “When— oh yea, no, that's right, I got it off Sinclair's man’s bed. I thought it was gone since it wasn’t with me when I returned to the mall.” It takes a moment for him to dislodge the belt and unfasten it since he has grown since he had last put it on; it had been left behind in this world, and he hadn’t been able to adjust it till now.

  Max fixes the belt and moves the dagger to the right side before clipping the small travel compass to the belt next to the dagger. I wonder, if I go back with this hanging from the belt, what will happen? Will the compass be left here? Will it bring the whole belt back with me? Maybe it will just come back with me and fall to the ground since the belt doesn’t come with? Man, this is weird.

  Before looking off into the distance to try to figure out where he is, Max looks around the forest floor. It takes a moment before he finds a suitable-sized rock and hefts it up. Tossing it up in the air a few times, checking its weight, Max finally nods before catching the rock. Yup, that will do nicely.

  The dagger is nice and all, but I know the rock works. Worst-case scenario, I can draw the dagger anytime. Plus, I can always throw the rock from a distance. Max finally starts to look around where he is, checking his compass so he can line up which direction he is looking in. Eventually, he looks behind the tree he was just leaning against and notices a town not too far away. Well, that surely is convenient!

  Max heads off in the direction of the town. Somehow, it doesn’t feel nearly as tense or scary as it did when he had been here previously. He doesn’t slack off, even if he keeps tossing and catching the rock; he constantly checks either side to make sure he doesn’t see anything, considering making him its lunch. Before long, he makes it to a wall, probably around ten feet tall or so.

  There are guards walking along the top of the wall, but they are very far apart, and the closest one doesn’t seem to notice Max, or if he does, he simply doesn’t care. Figuring there must be a way in, Max pulls out a coin and tosses it, using the result to decide to go left. It isn’t even fifteen minutes before Max sees a small road leading to a gate. He picks up his pace, tossing the rock he has been carrying back into the woods, and dusts his hands off.

  Arriving at the gate, Max approaches a guard leaning against his spear. Noticing someone making his way over to the gate, the guard stands up a little straighter and approaches Max. “What is your name and what business do you have in Briargate?”

  “Briargate?” Max can’t help but repeat what the guard said. The image of two girls standing beside him on a ridge overlooking a forest with a town in the distance pops into Max’s head.

  Wait, Briargate? That is where Rosalee was leading us. Where Sinclair shot me with the arrow. Absently, Max’s left hand moves up and touches his right shoulder. No way, did I return exactly where I left? That is freaky. How is that possible?

  “Yes, Briargate, have you lost sense, lad? Do you not know where you are?” The guard looks suspiciously at Max.

  Umm… no, sir. I mean… Well, yes, I guess.” Max’s completely clear and understandable answer makes the guard raise an eyebrow; he is about to shoo this foolish child away when Max attempts to clarify.

  “What I mean, Sir, is I have heard of Briargate and saw it in the distance a long time ago. I got lost out in the woods and must have gotten turned about. I hadn’t intended to come here. I just saw the wall not too far away and headed over to try and get my bearings and maybe something to eat. I followed the wall until I found this gate.”

  The guard relaxes now that the boy seems to be making sense and doesn’t seem to be here to cause him or anyone else trouble. “Tell us your name, boy, then you can go in.”

  “Max, my name is Max.”

  The Guard nods and heads into a small room off the side of the gate and returns in a moment, moving to the spot Max had first seen him standing in. “Well, go on, you’re blocking the gate.”

  Nodding to the guard, Max walks past him into Briargate. He wanders around for a bit before realizing he has no idea where to go. The town looked small from the ridge all those years ago, but now, being up inside of it, the town is quite large.

  After wandering around for a bit more, he finds a blacksmith working on a forge outside a small building near the wall of the town. Max watches the blacksmith from not too far away. He was drawn over by the hammering sound, but has no business with the man, so does not approach. He leans against a building and continues to watch him work while trying to figure out a plan of action.

  So, I am in the land of monsters and fantasy again. I always wanted to come back here, but I guess I never did think about what I would do if I actually did manage to get here. I am hungry, but I’m sure that the five dollars that I have is worthless here. I could head back to the woods and try to find something, but I’d be more likely to get eaten since all I have is a dagger. I have no idea where Rosalee or Elizabeth are or if they even got here safely.

  So first, I should probably try and find something to eat, second, unless I plan to sleep on the streets, and I'm sure the townsfolk would love that, I have to find someplace to sleep. I could always go back to the woods, but there is the whole getting eaten thing. Food and Bed, I can try to figure out what happened to the girls and where they are after that.

  While Max is lost in thought, thinking up what he should be doing instead of wandering around senselessly, he doesn’t notice that the hammering has stopped. Still staring off into the distance with his eyes glazed over, a voice interrupts his thoughts.

  “Who are you? What are you doing, just standing there staring at me? You have a problem?” A short, shirtless man wearing an apron with a long beard tucked into it gruffly asks Max while pointing a hammer at him.

  Coming back to reality, Max stumbles over his words. “I… umm… well, you see… umm, I was just—”

  “Well, spit it out, lad! I don’t have all day!” The man shouts, the hammer swaying with each word.

  Max focuses and tries again. “Hello… My name is Max, I have just arrived here in this town and found out I really didn’t know where anything was or have a place to go. I heard you hammering and came to see what you were doing. I guess I got lost in thought and ended up starting… I’m sorry.”

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Hearing the explanation, the gruff man turns and heads back toward his forge.

  “Umm… excuse me, if it isn’t a bother, I was wondering, do you need any help around here?”

  The man stops and turns back to the young lad. “What? Does it look as if I need any help, and from a child at that?”

  “Well, to be honest, Sir, I have no idea. I have never seen anyone do what you were just doing. See, I got separated from the people I was traveling with, and I don’t even know if they are still alive. I figure since you approached me, I might as well see if you could use a helper. My money is with my companions; all I have on me is this dagger.” Max points to the dagger on his hip. “I thought that maybe since you were working alone, you could use an extra pair of hands and might, in turn, help me get a room for the night.”

  “A beggar to boot away with you!” The man shoos Max away with his hammer.

  Trying one last time, Max continues. “I’m not begging, kind Sir; I am offering honest work for a place to stay or the money to rent one.”

  “As you said yourself, you have no idea what I was doing, how could you be of any help!”

  “I am a quick study; I don’t mind the heat or hard work. Please, I will do anything.”

  The man stares long and hard at Max before turning around and heading back to the forge. “Come along, I’ll find you something to do,” he sighs before adding, “But don’t expect money! You can sleep inside on the floor there.” He points into the small building attached to the smithy. “If you prove yourself capable, then, maybe in a few days, you might earn yourself some coin.”

  Max nods and follows the man to the smithy. While the arrangement isn’t ideal, it is better than sleeping out in the forest where the needleleafs are known to roam. Not much is said between the pair. The man points, usually literally, at something and instructs Max on what to do with or at said thing until he points at something else.

  They work almost in silence except for the ring of the hammer throughout the rest of the day. As the light fades, the man finally puts down the hammer and metal he was shaping and heads into the small building, waving at Max to follow.

  With nothing better to do, Max does just that and follows the man inside. He sits on the ground in the spot the man had pointed at, where he could sleep earlier. His back against the wall, he leans his head back with his eyes closed, going over all the tasks he did today.

  Eventually, someone kicks his foot. When he opens his eyes, the Smith hands him a large piece of bread and a bowl of some kind of porridge. He thanks the smith and hungrily begins to eat the simple meal. The smith scoffs and hands him a mug of liquid before moving to the small single-seat table and eating a very similar meal.

  ? ? ?

  The smith wakes the next morning, the sun already up but not late in the day. As he goes to the kitchen, he notices the lad from the previous day is nowhere to be seen and figures it is just as well. Making a quick snack, he eats before heading outside to the smithy. Exiting his house, he notices the boy has his shirt off and is doing weird things on the ground outside the smithy. “What in the hells are you about, boy?”

  Max stops working out and looks up at the man. “You were not awake when I got up, and I didn’t want to disturb you, so I came outside. I like to work out every morning to stay in shape in case something happens.” Standing up, Max rubs his left forearm subconsciously when he says, ‘something happens’.

  The smith notices the action and moves closer to the boy. He grabs Max’s arm and looks at the old burn and scars. “What happened here?” He looks into Max’s eyes suspiciously.

  Max doesn’t shy away from the man examining his arm, or even from his gruff questions. While some might find it rude to ask such a personal question or be embarrassed by the scars, Max is proud of them. “Needleleaf.”

  “Some girls were being attacked by three of them, and all I had was a torch. Knocked two of them down well enough, but the third was quicker than I thought. It knocked me down instead and decided it liked the taste of my arm. I stuck the torch in its eye and then taught it, and the other two, that I’m not food.”

  The man looks again at Max’s arm and smiles. “Come, boy, we have work to do.” Leading Max back to the smithy, the Man begins instructing Max on some chores to do while he begins working on the piece that he didn’t finish the day before. Much like yesterday afternoon, the day passes with Max doing small tasks and chores around the smithy while the man hammers metal.

  They stop briefly for lunch, and only then does Max ask a question that has been bothering him. “You are a smith, right? Is it hard? To work the metal, I mean. I see you work the metal with the hammer, shaping it like it is nothing.”

  The man pauses with some food halfway to his mouth, thinking before answering. “The metal is solid even once you heat it. You must be more solid. It only looks easy because I am strong and have been doing this for a long time. Someone weak and scrawny like you could never work the metal.” He brings the waiting food to his mouth, satisfied with his answer.

  Max’s eye twitches, and he bites his tongue to not say what he wants to. While the man is gruff and unfriendly, he has given him a roof to sleep under and food in his stomach; he couldn’t ask for much else. He thinks for a while before coming to the point he intended. “Really? I was hoping you could teach me how, that way I can help you more.”

  The man laughs, raising an eyebrow before taking another bite. After he finishes his food, he looks over Max once more. “You are helping enough.” He moves to stand, but Max persists.

  “Enough? For food and shelter, maybe, but I need… coin. You said that if I could earn my keep eventually, I might earn some. There is another anvil in the smithy. I could work on that and help you do twice as much. Then, maybe, I could help more than ‘enough’ and make some coin.”

  “You really want to embarrass yourself?”

  “What is the worst that can happen? You can always melt down whatever I mess up and do it over the right way. If I succeed, though, then that is less for you to do.”

  Grumbling, the man agrees and leads Max over to the unused anvil. He quickly moves around, tossing an apron, tongs, a worn hammer, and a weird circular disc-shaped thing with a square hole in the middle on a metal stick to him. Max dons the apron, putting the three items into the pocket on the front of it.

  “This is quick and simple.” He instructs Max on how to light the unlit coal forge nearby and how to use the bellows to get it to temp. When he judges it just right, he tosses in a metal bar and waits for it to heat. Once it is hot enough, he uses a pair of tongs to take it out and places it on the anvil.

  He attaches a blunt axe blade-shaped attachment to the anvil, then, using the tongs and hammer, proceeds to show how to cut the bar. “Once it is this color, bring it here and hit it like so. It will come apart like this. You will need to cut it again, if it is too cold, heat it back up to color first. Once it is, cut to this size.”

  He proceeds to heat it back up, then quickly beat it into the rough shape of a four-sided tipped spike. “Hammer it like that, then take it and put it back in the fire with the tip up.” Doing exactly as he describes, he takes the weird disc item he had given Max and uses the tongs to put all but the end through the disk.

  “All but the end should fit through, then hit it like so. Now you are done.” With a flourish of his hand, he displays the nail he just made. “Your turn, call me when you fail.” He leaves Max to his own devices and goes back to what he had been working on.

  Max stares in disbelief. It had taken the smith under three minutes or so to cut the bar of metal twice and then shape it into a nail as if it were nothing. Max takes a deep breath, coughing from the heat of the forge before attempting to follow the man's instructions.

  After around half an hour and three failed attempts, Max approaches the smith. “I tried three times, but I just can’t seem to get the hang of it.”

  The smith laughs before putting his work down and heading over to look at Max’s “nails”. Pointing at the first one, “This one was cold.” He points to the second nail, “This one was too hot.” Next, he points to the last nail.

  “Somehow, you managed to make it too hot and too cold on this one. That is why it thinned out the way it did, then snapped in such a way.” He shakes his head before repeating exactly what he did the first time, pausing again to show Max the correct steps. “Try again.”

  Max takes the metal and goes through the steps as he was just shown. Working far slower than the smith, he has to heat the metal a second time, and as he is about to continue, the smith tells him to look at the metal again.

  Pausing Max puts the metal back in the fire a little longer before removing it when it is a different color. He finishes the nail shortly after. While not the same uniform shape as the smith's, it is the correct shape and size, quite a passable piece of work.

  “You will get faster and more fluid as you make more. They will look nicer too. Do not waste too much metal. I will show you how to turn it back into a bar later.” He turns to walk away, but Max stops him.

  “Wait, what do you want me to do now?”

  “What else? Make nails.” He moves back to his station, leaving Max with a seemingly obvious answer.