very important illustration by hawkweed
As Sam didn't really know anything about life yet, it was fair to say he was learning a lot here with the Blacksmith. Heat can be dangerous. It could crack the stone. For a moment, he felt his heart jump to his throat—no! Don't crack the stone! That's... that's Sam! That's him! But the Blacksmith implied it would be ok, because they were waiting to put the stone in. That settled in his brain. A new core memory.
His head tilted back so that he could see the chimney, and tucked the information away that the fire was a wild thing, it loved to eat and run free but it also had its bite. Sam didn't fully understand—not the the way the Blacksmith had intended, as a metaphor—but his eyes flashed with a knowing light. So fire was cool but dangerous... like a crazy little creature. Got it!
When the Blacksmith was done showing him the mold and got back to work, Sam plopped back down onto his bottom and sat as he did before, with his legs and tail straight out, holding the goggles with his paws. He nodded as he listened, although he wasn't sure he'd be using clamps or anything like that anytime soon; but he did like the line: we all need support, sometimes. It made him smile. But falling, molten metal was a less comforting idea. His lips pulled back slightly in a grimace. Eesh. Sounded awful.
And seeing said molten metal as the Blacksmith poured it into the mold only solidified his understanding of that. Was that the sword, the red goopy string?? His mouth formed an 'O' shape as he watched—carefully, from his safe distance and with his eye protection—as the Blacksmith worked. It was way cooler than he thought it might be, but he hadn't known what to expect! When the smithy had settled the pieces together, Sam felt his stiff little tail squirming behind him. Maybe he could do stuff like that someday! But probably not. The stuff all looked super heavy and Sam was probably six feet too short.
The Blacksmith said it would take a few moments, so Sam relaxed a little bit. When he was asked why he chose the blade, however, he stiffened again. He blinked up at the Blacksmith through his goggles and pondered the questions. Why the blade, instead of something else?
"Umm," he started, glancing around at the other things; but his answer was simply that the blade looked cool... Well, he shouldn't lie, right? It felt like he shouldn't, not to the Blacksmith.
"It looks cool... strong, like it can protect itself, like a big tooth!" he explained, spreading his arms wide to show the Blacksmith what big was—and his goggles fell. He gasped and fumbled with his paws, righting the goggles and putting them back up to his face as quickly as possible. Whew, safe! Sam almost lost his eyeballs!! How scary!
"Um," he started again, tapping his little toes against the glass of his eye wear. "Well this is a secret, but you feel very safe so I will tell you," he said, pushing up from his position to waddle over to where the Blacksmith stood, keeping a weary eye on the forge. He spread the toes of one paw across the middle of the goggles, and brought the other down to his mouth to cup around his words: "Actually my name is Sam, but I want to be strong! So I call myself Wolfwood! And," his eyes shifted to the mold for a moment, "and... the blade, it looks like what I think of when I think of someone strong..."
He felt himself frowning. It was all part of his facade. Would he ever truly be Wolfwood, strong and brave, protector of the weak?
"What... other things would you have chosen? Instead of a blade?" he decided to ask.