[ His specialty is swords. Sharp swords. And his words are just a sharp, because he simply won't compromise on his own work, no matter how many sweet words try to sway him otherwise. Even if she stabbed him with that stupid weird pen, he'd still refuse to use it. Give him a few days, and maybe he'd have enough energy to summon up a set of tools on his own, but for now she'd have better luck getting a donkey to walk backwards up a hill than get Muramasa to concede an inch on the quality of his edges. ]

Spring flowers, hm. [ That's a pretty picture, out here where there's nothing but desert and storms as far as he can see. Matches her, or it would if there weren't that brittle edge in her smile. Instead of saying any of those nice things out loud, though, he just leans in again to peer at her work. ] You do a good job letting the metal's grain work for you — done metalwork before, have you?