I watched the smithy as he worked. Standing near enough to watch, yet not getting too close to interfere with his work. It was really quite enjoyable to watch him. He went about in a methodical way displaying good workmanship skills. And as he worked he seemed to be totally focused on his work. It was as if he had closed out the rest of the world. Perhaps he was happier there. Maybe he is smarter than me. Right now, his mind is on nothing but the wheel. My mind is running around in circles as if my hair were on fire.<br/><br/>The morning is arriving. The new day is waking up. I see a bit of activity at the tavern. A young woman with red hair has arrived and left. There are probably those staying overnight have started their day.<br/><br/>There must be a river or a pond somewhere around here. I need to bathe. But I must stay near the tavern. The King's Mission is still at the forefront of my mind and all other things must wait. The woman will at some point be leaving the tavern. And when she leaves it will be right here, to the carriage, she will be headed. And it seems to me that a woman of this refinement would be as anxious to leave as possible. But the carriage will go nowhere without the horses. And where is the driver? Daylight is making its entrance and still no driver and no horses.<br/><br/>Rolling these thoughts around in my mind seem fruitless. Things will unfold as they will.<br/><br/>The smithy appears to be about finished. I guess my next worry will be about his payment.<i>If</i>he is smart enough to realize he should be paid. If he is I will have a mountain of a problem followed by a mountain of pain. No doubt about that.<br/><br/>Standing back with his arms folded, the smithy looks at his work. He has completed it and I can see him look at the wheel with satisfaction. A job well done by a skilled craftsman. Somewhere in that brain of his, he knows that.<br/><br/>He then turns and looks at me. I nod and go to the wheel and inspect it. There is no need for this but I feel that I should show some appreciation for his work. That, and it buys me some time before the unpleasantness begins. That is how this plays out in my mind.<br/><br/>Finally, I stand and turn toward him. I smile and say, "That is a fine job. I thank you on behalf of the King for your service."<br/><br/>He stands there with arms folded saying nothing, an awkward silence developing between us.<br/><br/>I nod and say, "Your work is done here. You can leave now."<br/><br/>Still nothing. He stands there. I try to read his mood, but cannot. The silence builds anew.<br/><br/>I have nothing left.<br/><br/>"The King will be grateful. I will tell him of your labors."<br/><br/>Still nothing. In desperation, and because I can think of nothing else, I say, "What is your name? I wish to tell the King of your kindness."<br/><br/>He expression changes to a puzzled look.<br/><br/>"Your name," I say, "What is your name?"<br/><br/>His expression starts to change as the realization of understanding has somehow reached his brain. Then a smile appears on his face. A broad, happy smile. "My name is Smith, he says with obvious pride." Then he holds out his hand as if to shake my hand. I return the gesture and we shake hands.<br/><br/>The fact that he nearly crushes my hand is ignored by me. This could have turned out so much worse.<br/><br/>Then he turns and stands beside me as we both watch the tavern. I guess I have made a new friend.