The rest of the day was sung to the tune of heavy hammers, ringing out a routine rhythm that was ages old and sacredly undertaken. The music was that of skilled artisans, sweating brows and grunts of labour, with keen eyes watching each strike, sharp ears listening to each note. The bass thudded in their hearts and the alto lifted their spirits, as the flames of the forge gave a source of inspiration and creation that spun the shimmering metal from the rocky ore like thread from a fleece.

Celandine watched in awe, the process moving without haste and also without hesitation, from heating the fires to pooling the molten metal into a sensible mould. The process took many long hours, well into the darkness of the night, and the smiths performed as many tasks simultaneously as was possible, with the first forms of metal being added to create the blade, and additional layers added as more silver was leaked from ore. It was a process that Celandine did not find familiar, but she noticed that as the smiths worked they also hummed softly, every so often pronouncing a single word in some ancient dwarven tongue. And when they did sparks would fly, a glow would come from their hammers and magic would undoubtedly be instilled into the making of the beautiful and fate-changing blade.

It was dedication and focus. It was beauty and it was hardship. Smiths and acolytes and warriors came and went, going to rest and eat between shifts of work to come back fully restored and once more work upon the hopeful miracle. Yet through it all it was the young faun who remained a constant; watching in tireless wonder as her studious devotion was given life.

Mistress Garrett returned after twilight, alongside Steadfast, and sat with her beneath the canopy in the low chairs. Heat made their foreheads bead with sweat almost immediately, but it was little bother to them, for a true wonder was in the making. Silence was between the faun and the two dwarves, the former now used to others coming and going. Vanimar for example had not been seen by her since lunchtime and further dwarves, even those not related to the mission, had sat and had their meals with her for an hour or so before going back to their ordinary duties. Yet it was the three of them that were there when the smiths finally placed down their hammers and the final sizzle of cooling metal resounded around the well-ventilated tent. Careful eyes gazed over the blade, and a few more strokes of a sharpening stone was run across the length before the master of the ceremony nodded and slowly smiled beneath the firelight.

"I present," he strode forwards to the company, and paused before twisting the sword and offering the hilt to Mistress Garrett, "the remaking of a legend. Using silver steel, this magically inclined sword made with the strongest and most durable of metals known to exist to us may just hold hope for us all."

A single, collective breath. Shaking with anticipation and a lack of sleep Celandine stared in awe and leant towards Garrett. The dwarven elder though took the offer proferred to her and gently wrapped her half gloved hand around the leather bound hilt, slowly nodding.

"A work of art indeed, Master Drakju. You and your smiths and your mages have done well. Let us hope that this will work."

Steadfast gave a wince, hating the latter suggestion but the faun was still mesmerised. The blade itself was shorter and stockier than anything she was used to - definitely more so than the original sword. It had a thickness to the middle where the metal had been piled and folded numerous times, and a narrow edge on either side of the double fuller that would allow for an easier stab, should the sword ever need to be used for such a thing. But the idea was that this sword would never see battle or blood, for it's silvery sheen sung with many a beautiful glint, as if starlight itself had been captured, bottled and hidden in its materials.

"It's beautiful," Celandine whispered in utter fascination. "Even the hilt …"

It was delicately wrapped in dark leather, then bound with red twine. Three shining gems were tied into this cord to enhance the quality and entice the wielder to notice the brightness that sparkled in the straight blade.

"Aye," Mistress Garrett murmured. Then she sighed, but it was full of satisfaction and joy. With a quiet smile she nodded to the Master Smith and Drakju slipped over a plain looking sheath made of the same leather. Carefully, moving to hold the sword in her hands the elder dwarf paused, before turning to Celandine and holding out the sword.

"It is right you should carry this. I want you to guard it with your life."

A gasp uttered from the scholar's lips. "I will …" she whispered in reverence as her fingers wrapped around the beautiful sword that she had been the one to initially discover as a solution to all their problems.

"I know," Garrett agreed firmly, staring at her with solemnity and trust. "And I know you will try everything to return this to where it must go. I pray your journey will not meet any troubles."

Celandine nodded, biting her lip a little. "Of course. But - but Steadfast said that the caves were impossible to tread now, not without much work and time, which we don't have."

"Which is why he and his company will be taking you overland," Garrett confirmed. "It is the only way."

Overland. Through the fields and forests, through the lands now burnt and raided by countless demons. Danger at every crossroad and beyond each river bend.

"Oh," she murmured.

"Indeed," Garrett confirmed grimly. "And you leave at first light."