It was late, and a lone dark b'alam known as Forge had yet to fully recover. His wounds would be fully healed soon, but the internal suffering would take longer to heal and only leave scars....
Taking a deep breath of his pipe, Forge was lucky that the special little trikent hadn't been destroyed in the 'tussle'. A billow of smoke left the Tahtll's maw as his ember eyes remained fixated on the fire he had built, and was before him. His ebony pelted body remained released on a sealed lava flow flat. His fur could feel the warmth of the fiery springs that still flowed under him, it would be a cozy place to sleep.
It was dusk, and had been a time since his first apprentice, Maximas had left him to seek out his own path. And It had been even a shorter time since that fateful meeting with a broken horn demon and his follower that left him physically broken and internally wounded. As the days went on it became obvious to him that his pride and trust would take longer to heal then his torn body. The Black Smith even faintly entertained the thought of never passing on his skill or work to any other b'alam again.
Ripped and wounded paws stretched out closer to the warmth of the fire that was before. Scruffy chin lowered to tend to the sores on his paws. One more days walk and he would be home. His journey was almost over, and he could shut himself in his own forge with the idea in mind of staying there forever.