Anya The Forger
Within the Smithing Hall, students worked diligently at their forges, their faces illuminated by the orange glow of the furnaces.
Among them was a girl who stood out for her medium height and petite body, but what was more remarkable was her strength and resilience. Her name was Anya, Anya Fawger.
Her hammer, heavier than most students could manage, moved with a rhythmic grace in her small hands. Each swing landed true, shaping the glowing metal with a confidence that belied her size. Sweat beaded on her forehead, catching the firelight like scattered diamonds.
The other students, mostly burly men, watched her with a mix of admiration and amusement. One, a giant of a fellow with a beard like burnt toast, chuckled.
"Doesn't look like it takes much muscle, Anya, but you sure are making that piece sing!"