Chainmail

Lady Ashara Greenwood, stood tall and resolute in the heart of the war camp. The sound of clanging metal echoed through the air as blacksmiths
hammered away, forging weapons and armor for the imminent battle. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, where dark storm clouds gathered, signaling
the approaching storm of war.
As she surveyed the camp, her gaze fell upon the blacksmith's workshop, where the seasoned artisan, Sidabras, toiled over his anvil.Her brother was
known throughout the land for his exquisite craftsmanship, and Ashara had sought his skills to craft a chain mail that would befit her status as a knight.
With determined steps, Ashara made her way towards Sidabras's workshop. She placed basket with forest goods on the nearby table, elf greeted her
with a sweat-soaked brow and a weary smile.
"Ash," Sidabras acknowledged, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "I apologize for the delay. The chain mail you requested is proving to be more
intricate than I anticipated."
Ashara's eyes narrowed, disappointment etching itself on her face. "Brother, I have been waiting for weeks. The battle is imminent, and I cannot go
into the fray without proper protection."
Sidabras's hands, roughened from years of working with molten metal, clenched and unclenched as he tried to find the right words. "I understand your frustration, little sister.
The task you've given me requires utmost precision, and I won't compromise the quality of my work."
Her displeasure evident, the elven maid heaved a sigh and glanced at her sword and shield. "Very well, brother. I shall face the enemy with what I have."
Seeing the determination in her eyes, Sidabras's resolve hardened. "Give me just a few more days, you won’t regret it. I will finish the chain mail. It will be ready,
just wait some more. I promise."
Ashara nodded, accepting his promise. She turned away from the workshop, her thoughts heavy with the weight of impending battle.
She knew she had to find solace and strength before the imminent storm.
Her gaze fell upon the sacred grove, where the ribbons fluttered gracefully from the branches, and the ground was carpeted with soft moss. She felt drawn
to the serene atmosphere of the grove, a place of solace and divine connection.
With a sense of reverence, Ashara removed her sandals and stepped barefoot into the sacred space. The coolness of the moss caressed her feet, grounding her in the present moment.
As she walked deeper into the grove, the gentle rustling of leaves and the faint scent of incense enveloped her senses.
A sense of calm washed over her as she knelt on the straw mat before the altar. Whispering prayers of strength and protection, elven main poured out
her heart to Sastrines. She sought guidance, a glimmer of hope in the face of impending conflict. Her hands trembled as she clasped them together, and her voice
carried her fervent pleas through the sacred space.
As Ashara rose from her prayers, a gentle breeze caressed her face, carrying with it a sense of reassurance. She knew that she would face the battle with valor, even
without the chain mail she had hoped for.
Days turned into nights, and the battle drew near. Lady Ashara dedicated herself to rigorous training, honing her skills with the sword and shield.
And amidst the turmoil of the war camp, the elven blacksmith, Sidabras, toiled tirelessly, his forge glowing in the darkness.
The night before the battle, as the moon cast its ethereal light upon the land, Ashara returned to Sidabras's workshop. Weariness tugged at her bones, but a spark of anticipation
ignited within her as she stepped inside.
Sidabras stood before her, his elvish features illuminated by the dancing flames. His hands, calloused from years of crafting, held a gleaming chain mail
and a padded shirt woven from nettle.
"Ash, I have kept my promise," Sidabras said, his voice filled with pride and relief.