He was a huge man, in the manner of smiths everywhere I was to eventually learn. His hair was pale, though always slicked dark with sweat, and his eyes the cutting blue of a gemstone. "Aye, and is yer winning, missy?"
"No one wins at war," I told him primly. "Some lose less than others, if they are lucky."
The smith chuckled. "And I am seeing why the dandy man has taken such a liking to yer."
'Dandy' was a new word to me. I set it aside for later consideration. I knew I should not ask Federo why the smith had called him so.
"He is good to me," I lied. "But he will not play at soldiers with me."