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“Shards!” Winderick dropped the screwdriver on the table as the spring popped. He jumped out of his seat, knocking the stool off its pegs and sending it rolling across the floor as the screwdriver fell under the table with a clatter. Winderick lowered his arms and peered into the cavity of the gutted pocket watch, its spring uncoiled and risen as if to curse him, and dropped his hands at his with a sigh of defeat. For a moment he thought the spring was going to leap out and blind him. Fortunately, the spring was still stuck inside the device.

He righted his stool and sat down to take a closer look – he wanted to discover what was holding the spring in place – but when he reached for his tool his fingers found only air. With a faint scowl, Winderick knelt under the table and scanned the dusty floor. The pocket watch only cost him 1/32 of a mark. It was the second timepiece he bought from the clocksmith down the street and he was able to get it cheap because it was already broken. Well, not broken, but simply worn out. This was just as well. For Winderick learning the inner workings of any device involved breaking it on his first try. Finally Winderick spotted the screwdriver lying flat against the wall. Getting down on his knees, Winderick crawled under the table to reach it. Just as his hand closed around the screwdriver he heard someone walking outside the smithy. Winderick lifted his head and leaned back on the balls of his feet to catch a glimpse of the potential customers through the open doors.

The doors of the smithy were large enough to drive a small wagon through. Through the wide opening, Winderick had a clear view of the woman in blue leathers. Her clothing puzzled Winderick, who had never seen a rider before, and he kept his eyes on her as he put the screwdriver away. Feeling curious and discouraged in his work, he wiped his hands on his apron and edged toward the door for a closer look.

After a couple of seconds Winderick realized the woman he was looking at was in fact a rider. He should have guessed this sooner, but her leathers were so… well, the only word for them was ‘fancy.’

She suddenly turned his way. Remembering his uncle’s orders, Winderick stepped into the light. Three years of shouldering heavy loads and working in the forge gave him a strong upper-body and hands that felt as calloused as they looked. His clothes were simple and carried the stains of his chosen craft, his hair short and scruffy. With his short stature and small face, Winderick looked about a turn younger than his actual age, though his unflinching gaze showed a young man with the conviction of adulthood –some would call it arrogance. The rider did not intimidate him, neither as his elder nor as a dragonrider, but her presence at the smithy intrigued him. “Hello miss. If you’re looking for my uncle, he’s not in right now but I can take a message for him.”

She thought he couldn't handle a simple message? Winderick frowned. He might still be an apprentice but after fifteen turns he felt he deserved to be treated like a responsible adult.

"About an hour. Is there anything I can get for you, something I can help you with?" Perhaps she was here to pick up something his uncle was working on. He wanted to do something for her to prove his competence, even if all he had to do was check his uncle's records and fetch an item from the back room.

Pleased to have a task, Winderick inspected the blade, turning it in the light and looking at the edge. Judging by the handle and the dullness of the blade Winderick guessed it was mostly for show; in fact it looked as though it hadn't seen a whetstone since the day it was forged. Winderick wondered what she really wanted.

Regardless, Winderick set to work. As he cleaned off his work area he droned on about the various items he and his uncle produced, focusing on the ones he believed would be of most use to a rider - weapons, tools, buckles for saddles - noting her disinterest. He started by cleaning off the blade with a cloth then pulled up a stool and began sharpening it against a small whetstone used for daggers. There would be a small fee for this, of course. It probably meant nothing to a rider. The chance to show off his experience in front of an adult was all the motivation he needed.

"So what brings you to the Hold? On a Search?" Winderick asked, casually making conversation. He looked at the rider with an amused smirk. He remembered the watchwhers that traveled with the caravan that brought him to Benden, the closest he ever came to a real dragon. They snarled at him when he came too close so he quickly learned to stifle his curiosity about them and give them their space. True dragons were supposed to be more intelligent and calm than watchwhers, but whenever the subject of dragons came up Winderick's first thought was always of the caravan watchwhers.

The whetstone went still and silent for a moment. So she did come here on a Search. Winderick went on with his work, keeping his eyes focused on the blade.

But if she was Searching, what was she doing at his uncle's smithy? She certainly wasn't here to have this old thing sharpened. His uncle's other apprentice had gone with him to the mines, leaving Winderick to hold down the fort. She couldn't seriously want to Search him. Winderick didn't know the first thing about dragons. Besides, he already had a profession. He was going to be a metalcrafter one day, maybe even an engineer. This didn't make any sense.

"Well personally I don't like the people around here much," he said, trying to cover up his anxiety. He should have said something earlier instead of going quiet all of a sudden. "Not that I know them very well... I mean, I mostly keep to myself here, with my uncle. I don't have many friends my age. Well, any." He smiled and bit his lip. He was rambling like a fool.

"My parents sent me away from our cothold when I was twelve. I've lived here with my uncle ever since." The journey from his grandfather's cothold to Benden Hold lasted about five days by caravan. The last time he saw his father was to say goodbye to him. They sent letters back and fourth but he told his parents little about his life in Benden, not that there was much to tell.

Winderick stopped working and glanced at the rider. "I, um... I don't like it when people hover over me."

He swallowed a lump in his throat. She had to be Searching him. Much as Winderick enjoyed talking to adults, he knew that there was just no way a dragonrider would be interested in hearing his life's story merely for curiosity's sake. That meant...

His flesh broke out in goosebumps.

Her dragon must be nearby. Winderick resisted the urge to look up. He couldn't see anything through the roof of the smithy, he just knew it had to be up there somewhere, watching him through its rider's eyes.

What did it want from him? He glanced at the rider again and remembered her comment. "I'm not really a loner. I just get along better with grown-ups than people my age. They're not as mature as I am, I guess."

"I consider myself pretty good. I'm still an apprentice but later on I want to be an engineer." Winderick finished cleaning off the blade and handed it to her after a final inspection. Not his best work, but they both knew she wasn't here to have her dagger sharpened.

"Can I see your dragon?" He could see she wasn't going to force him to do anything. Whether or not Winderick wanted to be Searched (that was a whole other matter), there was a dragon somewhere around here and he would be a fool to pass up an opportunity to see it up close. He only hoped it wouldn't snap at him like the watchwhers.

Did he want to be Searched? He came a long way to apprentice under his uncle. He still carried around bitter memories from his time in the caravan and being uprooted from his family and all his friends back in the cothold, but he came to be glad for the opportunity he was given and actually enjoyed working under his uncle quite a bit. Aside from his lack of friends, which bothered Winderick less than the rider might expect, he had a good life in Benden Hold. But Winderick wanted more out of life than cold and unfeeling steel. That certain something might not be a dragon. For the moment, the only thing he wanted was an answer.