Between Hammer and Anvil 
I’m a bit of a voyeur to begin with, but when someone’s wearing a kilt and it flips up, exposing their junk, I mean, who doesn’t look? In this particular case, it was a young brown bear, and his running gait had caused him to trip and fly ass over teakettle. I had a nice, if brief, glimpse of his twig and berries, as well as his nicely firm backside, as he tumbled to the ground. He had chosen to go without underwear – “regimental” as we say – and it had afforded me quite a nice little view. 
“Whoa, lad!” I said, walking over and offering him a hand up. “That was quite a spill. Do you need to go to First Aid?” 
“I don’t think so,” he said in a cute, high voice. He took my hand, and I found him very easy to haul up. “Thanks for the assist, though!” He brushed at his clothes, straightening them out. I looked him over. He had on a decent little kit – a light blue shirt with properly puffy sleeves tied at the wrists, his gray and blue tartan kilt, a proper sporran, and a dark gray flat hat that did a decent impression of a tam o’ shanter. He was barefoot, as so many kids seemed to be at the Autumn Village Renaissance Faire. He looked up at me with his bright golden eyes, smiled, and gave me a thumb's up. “I think I’m all systems go, sir knight.” 
I laughed. “No knight here, young laird,” I said with a wink. “Just a humble merchant.” I wasn’t dressed that much differently than he was. I’m a boar, not a bear, of course, and I have red bristles all over as opposed to brown fur. My sleeveless shirt started out white, but it’s more ivory-colored after years of wearing it to these things, and I keep it mostly open to show off my bristly chest. My kilt tartan is mostly red, with lines and squares of white, green, and a touch of blue. I preferred a bandanna over my bald head to keep off the sun and keep sweat out of my eyes. I’m also a heck of a lot bigger than this kid was, with a big belly, broad shoulders, and powerful legs. I was almost barefoot, though, as I prefer sandals to shoes. 
“No laird here,” he said, giggling slightly. “I think I’m probably just a peasant boy? I’ve never been to one of these before.” It surprised me that he seemed to know what laird meant. Between that, the cute grin, the pretty eyes, and the infectious giggle, I found myself rather liking this boy. 
“Well, now, let’s see,” I said, crouching down to be closer to eye-level. “Clothes in decent shape…nothing too fancy, but clean.” I looked down at his feet. “Barefoot, but then, so are most lads and lasses hereabouts.” I rubbed my chin, then took his hands, examining them. “No callouses…so not a working boy.” I grinned at him. “You look much like a young, poor laird’s son to me.” 
He studied my hands in turn. “Well, you have lots of callouses…and your arms are very strong, especially the right one.” He traced the muscles along my right bicep. Damn, the kid smelled nice at close range, and his fingers made me shiver…the touch was so soft. “A little sweaty,” he said, playfully wrinkling his nose. “I bet you work over at the forge, making weapons.” 
I was surprised at how perceptive he was. “Well, now…all that from a few touches and a whiff of musk, hmm? Quite the little detective.” 
“Well,” he admitted with an impish grin, “that and I saw you over there, working on a sword.”  
I groaned as he had a laugh at my expense. “I can’t believe I got taken by such a cheap charlatan’s trick,” I said in mock-indignation. “Well, I have to get back to work, young laird. I can’t stand about matching wits with every lad who flashes me his tackle.” 
That got him. He blushed rather prettily, the red darkening along his muzzle and ears. “I tripped,” he said, ducking his head a bit. “Sorry about that.” 
I just couldn’t help myself. “Oh, that’s alright,” I admitted. “I didn’t mind one bit.” He blinked and looked up at me, and I flashed him a wink, then turned without seeing what his further reaction was and headed back to my stall. 
As I walked, I started to regret what I had said. I like a playful lad now and then, but I had all but outed myself to a very young fella. I suddenly had visions of a huge, angry Papabear beating the snot out of the pervert, pedo pig that had ogled his son. I wanted to turn around and verify the kid wasn’t summoning some older relative to maul me, but I was afraid I’d look that much guiltier if I did. Sweat was definitely beading on my brow by the time I got back to the Starspark Smithy, (Hammer and Anvil proprietors). 
“’Bout time,” my partner, James “Anvil” Dodson grumbled when I return. Anvil’s a black rhino, and he’s a huge sonovabitch, even bigger than me. He doesn’t wear much when smithing other than a leather apron, heavy leather gloves, a pair of short breeches tied at the knee and thick, black, leather shoes. He was peeling off the gloves as I entered. “I need to take a piss like you wouldn’t believe.” He looked at me, then past me. “I thought you were getting a beer…not a tag-along.” 
“Huh?” I turned and looked to find that the little bear had trailed me, a curious little smile on his face. He was keeping his distance, pretending to be interested in the jousting scores, but he kept glancing our way, looking playful and happy. Oh, boy…this kid looked like trouble…but a really fun kind of trouble. 
“Cute kid,” Anvil rumbled. “You show him your dick and he followed you home?” 
“Kind of the other way around?” I told him the story in brief. 
Anvil grunted. “Just don’t get us thrown out or thrown in jail,” he rumbled. “I’m off to the privy.” He headed off in his slow, lumbering, rolling walk towards the porta-potties. I saw the boy watch him go, then turn back towards our booth, slowly making his way over and leaning on the counter. 
“So are you the Hammer or the Anvil?” he asked, looking around at the various weapons hung around the walls of our stall. 
“Hammer,” I grunted to him. I was trying to seem disinterested, but I heard my voice continue on, as if it was working without my brain. “Michael ‘Hammer’ MacDonald, at your service, young laird.” I nodded at the retreating rhino. “That’s Anvil.” 
The boy nodded, then looked at my kilt. “That’s why you’re wearing MacDonald plaid, huh?” I was increasingly impressed. Not only did this kid recognize my tartan, but he pronounced plaid as ‘played’. The kid knew a few things. 
“Someone’s done some homework, hmm? Your folks in the S.C.A. or something?”  
“I don’t have any folks,” he said, simply. “It’s just me. I like medieval and renaissance stuff, and I do a lot of reading…play a lot of RPGs…that kind of thing.” 
“Well, ‘Just Me’,” I said, “who *are* you here with?” I’ll admit I was emboldened a bit by his casual approach after my earlier comment and his mention of a lack of folks.  
“No one,” he said, smiling at me, as he leaned on the wooden counter. “Like I say, it’s just me.” 
I leaned on the opposite side of the counter, smirking. “You got a name, kid, or am I calling you ‘just me’ all day?” 
“Oh, sorry!” He straightened up, offering me a little paw. “Carey Winslow. Nice to meet you, Mr. Hammer.” 
We shook hands, and I gave his paw a little squeeze, which made him grin and squeeze back. Yup…this kid was going to be a fun bit of trouble. 
“Kid’s still here,” Anvil grunted as he came back into the booth. “This gonna be a problem?” 
“I don’t think so.” I looked at the bear. “Carey, you gonna be a problem?” 
He shook his head, smiling. “No problems here, Mr. Hammer. Nice to meet you, Mr. Anvil,” he said brightly. 
Anvil nodded, but I thought I saw a slight upward curve of his lip. Despite his gruff exterior, he’s kind of a softy, and he likes a cute lad as much as I do. This little guy was a charmer, to be sure. 
As Anvil turned back to the axe he had been hammering on, I noticed a small family of muskrats approaching – a father, a mother, a teenaged son, and a baby in a stroller. They were “civilians” so to speak, no costumes to speak of, although the baby was wearing a felt “Robin Hood” style cap. “Can I help you folks with anything?” I asked. Anvil’s not much of a chatter, so it usually falls to me to talk to the customers. 
“We’re just looking,” the mother said, quickly, although it was clear that the father was interested. The teen boy didn’t look interested in anything; he was at that age where kids are too cool for everything. I noticed Carey approaching him and talking quietly off to the side. They fell to chatting as boys often will, and I chatted to the rest of the family. 
“Well, given that it’s the last weekend of the Faire, we’re offering a discount. We don’t want to lug all this metal back home!” The father and I laughed. “I can offer you 10% off of anything you see. 20% if you buy two or more pieces.” Even at that price, we’d still make a decent profit. And it really was a pain in the butt to have to pack and store everything until the next Faire, even if it were only two weekends away. 
“You have really good stuff here,” the Father said. “May I see that longsword with the wide crosshilt?” 
“Good eye,” I said. “That was actually a special order made on the first day of the Faire. We made the sword, but the guy emailed us and bailed out on it. Beautiful piece. I can actually let that one go for a 20% discount on its own, or 25% if you buy something else with it.”  
Mom looked at the price-tag. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, softly. 
“Mmm...” Dad seemed uncertain, but I noticed Carey say something to the boy he’d been talking to. 
“Hey, Dad,” the son said, coming closer. “That sword is awesome. You look like Aragorn with it!” 
Dad grinned, then struck a heroic pose. “It does look pretty cool. Does it have a sheath?” I smiled, taking out the custom made sheath we’d commissioned from the leather-worker the weekend before. 
Mom groaned, but the kid leaned in. “I like those daggers, too...you said I could maybe pick something out for my birthday.” 
Mom sighed. “Well...maybe as a birthday present.” 
Dad made eyes at her. “And the sword?” he said, almost sounding like a little kid. “I’ve been so good.” He batted his eyes, and she laughed. 
“Well, you have been pretty good...” She leaned in and kissed him. “And you do look pretty cool.” 
A few minutes and one heck of a sale later, I turned and eyed the little bear, who was giving me a shit-eating grin. “Did you put him up to that?” 
Carey shrugged. “Sort of? He was saying how much he wanted a dagger, and I kind of hinted that, if he buttered up his Dad, he was more likely to get it.” 
I folded my arms and looked him over. “Don’t you want to see the rest of the Faire? You don’t want to hang around a couple of old farts like us all day, do you?” 
He leaned on the counter and gave us both the same once over I’d given him. “Well, I’ve seen plenty of it already. And so far, you two are the best part, as far as I can tell. Besides, if I spent the night, I could see it all again tomorrow.” 
I shook my head, chuckled, but it was Anvil who spoke up. “If you’re gonna hang around, get behind the counter. Make yourself useful.” 
As it was, he did. He cleaned counters, swept the shop, and chatted up various customers, being the charmer that he was. As the day was coming to an end, we were having a damned good day. Anvil wandered off for a while, and, when he came back, he had an extra merchant badge, which he pinned on Carey’s shirt. “If you’re gonna spend the night,” he rumbled, “you need one of these so you get fed and no one challenges you bein’ here.” 
It was nice having the third set of hands in the smithy. We taught Carey a little bit about the blacksmith’s craft. He tried to hold the big hammer, but it almost pulled him off his feet when I let go of it. He was a good sport, though, laughing about it as he handed it back. “I don’t think I’m ready to hammer steel,” he said, giggling softly. 
“Well,” I told him, patting his arm, “when you get to be a big bear, you’ll probably be as big and strong as Anvil. Then you’ll swing that hammer like no one’s business.” 
To my surprise, that comment seemed to make him inexplicably sad. Before I could ask him what was wrong, however, his ebullient good spirits bubbled back up. “Well, until then, I’ll just have to be the shop boy.” 
I thought maybe he was thinking of his Dad. That guy must’ve been a big bear, and maybe the kid didn’t want to be reminded, since he’d said he was on his own. Thinking that made me wonder about the kid. Was he an orphan? Was there an orphanage around? If so, how had he gotten his hands on the nice clothes? He seemed to have experience with guys checking him out. Had he tricked for them? Were we being hustled? But then I saw him posing and flexing, making ridiculous faces that got Anvil laughing. There was something so completely genuine about him that those kinds of thoughts fled. Mysteries tend to crop up around Ren Faires. I decided not to probe too deeply; best to just enjoy the moment and not to worry on it too much. 
As we ended our day, the crowd started to filter out. We made our last sales and closed up the stall. “Well, kid,” I said, “you really want to stay the night? You’re sure there’s no place you gotta be? No one gonna send cops to find you?” 
Carey smiled. “No one would come looking, I promise. Like I said before, I’m on my own.” He seemed to ponder the offer. “If I stay, what happens?” 
Anvil and I looked at each other. “Well,” I said, “we have to do a bit more work...take inventory. Tally the sales. That kind of stuff.” 
“Afterwards, we have a ceilidh,” Anvil said. “Food’s good, an’ th’ singin’.” 
“Caillie?” the little bear said, cocking his head. “I don’t know that word.” 
“Ceilidh,” I said, then spelled it for him. “It’s like a collaborative party. A bunch of us from the Fair get together, pool our resources for food. And there’s a lot of singing and playing music.” 
“You’d think everyone would be tired of performing after performing all day,” the cub said with a smile. 
“That’s for the crowd,” Anvil growled. “This is for ourselves.” 
“And after the ceilidh?” Carey asked, looking curious and a bit sly. 
“Well, we have a pretty comfortable tent we share. Air mattresses, sleeping bags...” I looked him over. “Might be a tight fit for three, but you’re pretty small.” 
“A tight fit,” Anvil said, grinning a bit, reaching down to pat the bear’s lower back. 
Carey grinned. “I’m used to tight fits,” he said, playfully. “Are you guys inviting me to stay?” 
Anvil and I glanced at each other. The big rhino grinned, and I chuckled. “I’d say you’re welcome.” 
The ceilidh was as nice as usual. All the food that the individual performers brought seemed like a feast when some of the better cooks among us worked their magic. Over the years, Anvil has become a damned fine barbecue grill master, cooking anything set before him and using various spice rubs he’s developed with the help of other Faire merchants. Others brought fresh baked breads, wheels of cheese, sausages, vegetables, stews, and many other delights. A lot of the performers brought food for others to prepare and then entertained, both while the cooking was happening and afterwards. I have no talent for cooking, so I buy a lot of supplies. I’d brought a few sacks of potatoes. Some went in stews, some were grilled in slices, and some were peeled, chopped, and fried with onions. Carey looked a little self-conscious, so I set him to work hauling water, removing garbage, and the like.  
A few of the Faire crew looked him over. Some seemed to like the look of him, and others seemed uncertain. I introduced him as the son of an old friend of the family. There were some raised eyebrows, but it seemed a likely enough story that no one pried. He surprised us after supper, however. As various musicians worked their way through different tunes, a few of them lit into the song, “The Stolen Child”. It’s a pretty but sad song about a child being taken away by fairies. Out of nowhere, I started to hear a soft, sweet voice...not well-trained, but pretty and full of emotion. It sang out the familiar chorus. “Come away you mortal child, to the waters and the wild, with a fairy hand in hand, for the world’s more full of weeping than ye can understand.” 
I turned towards the unfamiliar voice and was vaguely surprised to see it was Carey who was singing. A few others joined him in the verses, which he seemed to know perfectly. When the song was over, he swiped a bit at his eyes, and I was curious why the song affected him so much. When the song was over, I asked, and he smiled at me, sadly. “I’m a changeling myself,” he said. “Caught in-between faerie and here.” I was taken aback at the soft bitterness in his voice, but he suddenly laughed and smiled at me and patted my arm, and I let the matter drop. Mysteries, I reminded myself, are sometimes meant to stay mysterious. 
It was late and dark when the three of us stumbled back to our tent. Anvil and I had both enjoyed a few drinks, and we were feeling pretty merry. I looked at Carey, wondering if the odd, fey mood he’d been in earlier would dissuade him, but, as soon as the zipper was closed on our tent, he hugged one arm onto each of us. “This has been a really awesome day.” He grinned brightly. “And I want to pay it back by giving you both a really awesome night.” 
Anvil chuckled. “Little guy, you don’t have to do...” He didn’t get any further, because Carey put one paw on my rhino friend’s crotch and squeezed lightly. “Mmmph. Or...never mind...you go right ahead!” The cub then reached out and slipped a hand up my kilt. I felt those little fingers feeling my hair balls and snorted when they wrapped around my uncut shaft. 
“Kilts,” he remarked, “are super convenient.” As we all chuckled and got down onto our knees on the sleeping bags and air mattresses, he looked back and forth between the two of us. “So...who wants to do what?” 
Anvil and I exchanged a look. We grinned at each other and moved in close, pinning the little guy between us. “I’m a big fan of feeling a warm muzzle around my cock,” I told him. “Anvil is more of an ass man.” 
He giggled. “I have one of each of those.” 
“Convenient,” I teased him, rubbing his ears. 
Man, that was a great night. I remember looking down, seeing that soft, warm muzzle stretched wide around my cock. I was leaking like a faucet, but he just went to town. Definitely wasn’t his first time sucking a dick...nor taking one, for that matter. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing as Anvil’s thick, thick rhino dick slowly inched into him. He made the best noises around my cock...I was a little worried he’d bite down when it got to some of the wider parts of my buddy’s girthy piece, but he handled it like a pro. 
Anvil groaned when his lap slapped softly into the boy’s rear. “Fuck...felt my balls snuggle up against his,” the rhino said with a grin. Anvil was sweating bullets, and I was getting pretty warm myself. I looked down at the boy and pushed my own hips forward. 
“Damn kid...you could get a job at the Faire as a sword swallower.” Anvil and I snickered at that, and then I pressed right to his lips, my pubes covering his nose. He had a blissful, drunk look on his cute face. No denying this lil cub liked to be fucked at both ends. And we were glad to oblige. 
Anvil popped first. While I was feeding our new little tent buddy plenty of precum, I was still a ways off from actually blowing a load. Anvil, however, seemed really pent up. He grabbed Carey’s hips and held them still while he started thrusting, a bit more heavily. Each thrust made the cub grunt and whimper adorably. He didn’t look like he was in pain...more like he was concentrating on staying calm and not biting. “That’s right, kiddo,” I told him, stroking his hair and face. “Just concentrate on how good that boardick tastes...and how deep that big ol’ piece of Anvil’s going in you. He’s gonna breed you real nice.” He suckled faster and harder as I said that, and Anvil panted heavily. My buddy liked it when I talked dirty to the guys we shared...especially about his own cock. 
Carey was panting heavily through his nose, but he was being a game little guy. He wasn’t complaining (not that he could do so in words, really), and he wasn’t faltering in suckling yours truly. He was just suckling and slurping, bobbing his head a little when he could, even as Anvil groaned and thrust harder, losing his rhythm, getting irregular, and then stifling a bellow as he held suddenly still. I could tell he was pumping a load deep into the little bear’s guts. After a while, he moaned and leaned back, letting that dick snake out of Carey’s butt. Some cum drooled down the cub’s thighs, and Anvil sat back, panting, to watch us. 
I didn’t want to choke my new little friend, so I let him bob as he liked. Once he wasn’t bracing against the assault on his ass, he moved one paw up to rub at my big balls. My dick isn’t huge, but it’s a respectable thickness at least. What the good Lord denied me in length, however, he bestowed upon me in balls. My big low hangers are more than capable of churning up a bellyful for anyone, let alone a cub, and they’re sensitive as heck. Feeling those soft little digits playing over them was heaven, and I found myself groaning and rubbing the back of Carey’s neck. “You want it in you or on you, lil guy?” I whispered. “Decide quick...you’re getting' me real close.” 
Hearing that, Carey bobbed faster, suckled harder, took me in deeper, and soon, I felt myself tipping over the edge. I groaned heavily and emptied those big balls into one of the sweetest, warmest, more eager little muzzles I’d ever enjoyed. I watched him swallow and swallow, trying to keep up. Luckily for him, although I cum a ton, it’s a slow pump, so he was able to get most of it down. In the end, however, I think his belly just got full, and he lost some down his chin. He pulled off, and he got a shot or two over the face, which he giggled at, weakly.  
Anvil slowly slipped up behind Carey, snuggling in close, wrapping an arm around the little guy; I’ve always been touched by what a cuddly fella the rhino is when he’s in the mood. I stroked Carey’s head as he laid his head on my pillowy belly. He looked up at me and smiled, weakly, and I smiled down at him. I wasn’t shocked when he and Anvil both passed out, cuddled up close. I lay back and looked at the roof of the tent. What a day. What a night! I realized I was feeling awfully fond of the little bear. I sort of dreamily considered what it would be like taking him on as an apprentice, taking him with us to the Faires around the country. It would be nice to have his bright, cheerful disposition during the day and his warm, affectionate company at night. I dozed off with those ideas in my head and his warmth pressed to my body.  
Carey was still sleeping when I woke up and slipped out of his embracing arm to slide on my kilt and answer the call of nature. Anvil was already awake and had acquired coffee for us from the morning vendors. “I like the kid,” my friend said, smiling softly. 
“I like him, too.” I found myself lost in my reverie again. “He’s good around the Faire, too. Natural. It might be nice to have him around regularly.” 
Anvil grunted. We sipped coffee together in silence, but he finally broke it. “I don’t think it would work. Too many questions. Couple of folks were already lookin’ at us a bit funny.” 
I sighed, knowing he was right. It was one thing for a “friend of the family” to stay overnight. It was another thing to have an underaged boy constantly traveling with us. Anvil and I were able to get away with a lot by being discreet. If we pushed our proclivities in the faces of other Faire merchants and performers... 
“Morning,” said a bright, sweet voice from the flap of the tent. Carey was coming out, wearing just his shirt, which was just long enough to preserve his modesty. “Last night was super fun.” He looked up at the sun. “I don’t know what time it is...I don’t suppose we have time for a morning round two?” 
Anvil chuckled. “Nah...gotta clean up...get the shop open.”  
“Darn!” The cub grinned and headed to the porta-potties. When he came back, we showed him where the camp showers were. No one else was using them, so we quickly slipped in together. There may have been some good-natured soap-dropping, ass-grabbing, and general groping, but we kept it pretty tame. By the time we exited, others were getting up and getting ready. We got dressed, ate a breakfast out of leftover ceilidh food, then hit the shop. We got things organized, got open, and greeted the first Faire-goers of the day. 
The last day of the Faire is always bittersweet. When a Faire begins, you greet old friends that you haven’t seen...some just since the last weekend, others for a year or more, depending on whether they travel to other Faires or not. You make new friends as the Faire goes on. By the time a couple of weekends have gone by, you’re a community...a family, even. When the Faire comes to an end, you have to say goodbye again. Some folks you’ll see in a week or two at the next Faire. Others you’ll see the following year when the specific Faire comes back around. Still others you might not see for years, or never see again. You just never know. 
The day went too quickly for my tastes. Carey worked with us as if he’d been doing it for years. He fetched drinks and lunch. He kept things cleaned. He kept the cash box organized better than Anvil or I ever had. And then, suddenly, the day was over. Anvil and I exchanged a look as the patrons started to file out. Soon it would be time for the last ceilidh. Tomorrow, we’d be breaking everything down, filling our van, and heading to the next spot where we’d set up and do it all over again. Was Carey hoping to go with us? 
Before either of us could broach the subject, the cub turned and gave us both a big smile. “This was a blast. Will you be at next year’s Autumn Village Faire?” 
I looked at Anvil, who smiled, warmly. “If you’re gonna be here, you can count on it.” 
“You gonna be okay there, ‘just me’?” I asked. I almost winced at the note of concern that had crept into my voice. Dang. Who was this kid that I got so attached so quickly? 
“Oh yeah!” he said, smiling reassuringly. “I got people who look out for me. Just not family.” He came close, giving me a big hug. “This was so much fun. I’ll really be counting the days until next year.” 
“Well, it’s a three weekend Faire...if you wanted to hang out with us the whole time...” 
He grinned up at me. “Wow...someone’s greedy.” He giggled, hugging on extra tight before going over to hug Anvil.” 
“Don’t grow up too much between now and then,” Anvil said with a chuckle. 
Carey laughed, surprisingly heartily at that. “That’s a promise I can totally keep,” he assured us. 
Feeling suddenly affectionate, I moved up behind him, and we hugged him between the two of us. When we all finally let go, he stepped back, swiping his eyes again. But he grinned big before waving goodbye and heading for the exit. Before he got too far away, he deliberately did a little hopstep...just enough to make his kilt lift up in the back and moon us. 
“Cheeky kid,” Anvil said with a soft chuckle. “You think we’ll see him next year?” 
“I really hope so,” I sighed. “I liked having him here.” 
Anvil looked at me with a look of surprise, then chuckled. “I hope so, too.” 
A year came and went. We did a whole bunch of Faires. Made decent money. Had fun with a few folks across the country. Got a year older and a year wider. We never forgot the boy from the Autumn Village Renaissance Faire, but I think we assumed he’d forget about us. When the time came for us to head back to that area, we made the drive, set up our tent, set up the shop, and kept our eyes open. There was no sign of the little bear, and I think we both settled into the idea that he wouldn’t be coming. 
“Think it’ll be a good Faire?” I asked Anvil. 
He grunted and shrugged. “Weather forecast is decent. Warm enough, but not too warm. I think it’ll be a good Faire. I know what would’ve made it a great one, though.” 
I nodded a bit glumly. It was what we both had been thinking. 
The morning of the first Faire day, I was just settling into a cup of coffee. We had built up the fire in the forge, and Anvil was working on a few “Good luck” horseshoes, which are a popular item with people who want a souvenir but who don’t want to shell out for a sword or other weapon. I wasn’t really looking at anything when I heard the little clearing of the throat. “You gonna say hi, or do I have to fall and flash you my tackle to get your attention?” said a playful little voice. 
I smiled. It was going to be a great Faire.