Charcoal dust marked the safety line, and Hajin hopped behind it to give Ferra's hammer room for its returning swing.
That morning's infirmary check left his right palm freshly bandaged, with strict orders against gripping anything with the thumb.
He reopened the stream beside the bellows while Ferra hauled a glowing billet from the hearth to the anvil horn.
She jabbed her tongs toward the padded bellows grip, glaring straight at his dressing, "Left hand takes the load, and that wrapped paw stays open on its rest."
"Two long draws, one sharp compression, and you call for relief the second it pulls, understood?"
"Understood, understood," Hajin huffed, shuffling into his stance, "left hand, open paw, zero heroics."
"I saw your heroics at the standby lever, and they cooked straight through its handle."
