"The Riders are due at noon, and we set up at midnight! Replace your shields, brandish your swords!" Parruk called as he walked between the clay houses, rubbing his hands together.
His breath came out in clouds against the cold air, and he covered his nose and breathed for a while until his red nose cleared, and he continued to walk. He paused outside of the blacksmiths, then walked into the forge.
Yore stood at the bench, hammering a sword into shape. The aged man looked up at Parruk and smiled grimily, wiping the soot off his face with the back of his wrinkled hand. "Hello, there."
Parruk pulled out his flask and sipped his soup, and offered it to Yore. The smith licked his teeth and took it thankfully, tipping his head back and gulping hungrily, then passing it back.
"Are the bows and arrows ready to replace those of the approaching battalion?" He asked, screwing the cap back on.
Yore pressed his mouth into a thin line. "Yes, they are all against the wall." He lifted the sword and pushed it into the flaring coals, and began to pump the blower before dragging it back out and smashing the bends smooth before dunking it into a barrel of water.
Parruk watched the water boil and hiss, then the gleaming sword as it retreated. He wiped his lips on his sleeve. He let his trembling fingers touch the pommel of his own sword. It gave him a small shock. Electro. The golden sword; metal struck by lightning. Whenever he came in contact with it, he could hear Brosk's breathing.
Electric dragon and sword alike, Parruk could of called himself the strongest dragon rider of them all.