Bond Forger
Barlo was restless. His hair was damp, and a trickle of sweat traveled down his neck. His fingers moved without conscious thought, setting polished stones in newly crafted weapons and jewelry, but his mind was elsewhere. His thoughts kept wandering from the confines of the family forge and Dwarvenhome’s mountain halls to the wide world beyond.
“Pass me the tongs, will you?” Fidar asked.
Barlo suspected from Fidar’s tone this wasn’t the first time he had made the request. Barlo shook his head to clear it and handed his son the metal tongs. Wincing inwardly, he corrected himself for the umpteenth time.
My father. Fidar is my father now.
Twenty-three years had passed since Barlo had been reborn, and he still had a hard time keeping his relations straight. In his previous life
