Swage; \ˈswāj, ˈswej\ : a tool used by metalworkers for shaping their work, by holding it on the work, or the work on it; and striking with a hammer or sledge

The little foundry on the edge of Canterlot was humming, its barn-like doors opened to expose fire, steel, and machines. A dower gray earth pony examined a massive sheet of copper being heated over a bed of coals. It was clear that this project was bigger than the ones the little shop normally handled.

“Where the hay is that colt, we’re going to have to start without him,” the gray pony grumbled.

The only other pony in the shop, a unicorn with a chestnut coat, answered, “Swage wouldn’t miss seeing you work a sheet this big for anything. I’m starting to worry about him.”

The older pony snorted. “Whatever possessed me to take a pegasus on as an apprentice I’ll never know. We’re starting this in five whether he’s here or not, you’ll have to take up his slack Quench.”

“Yes Master Pigiron,” the journeyman unicorn barked.

Truth be told, Pigiron knew exactly why he had taken the little pegasus as his apprentice; he had never met a pony that loved working metal as much as Swage, nor somepony that could learn as fast as he could. Pigiron had learned early on not to show him anything he didn’t want him trying. Swage could reproduce a skill after watching it just once or twice. Of course, it still took him awhile to get good at the task. But still, he was an adept in the art. His gift was also a curse in the eyes of his master. He would never push himself. Learn something, fix something, take off to take a nap or play in the nearest cloud; wash, rinse, and repeat.

“The colt could be the best, if he wasn’t so pleased with himself about being good” He mumbled.

A wheat colored streak shot between two clouds. After a moment of rustling the cloud produced the bust of a pony, his dark brown mane hanging from the cloud like a banner. Grinning like mad pony he scanned for the next cloud to assault. The air was cool and the sun warm, no wind ether; it was perfect flying weather. Tall puffy clouds called him to come and play. It was a call he couldn’t resist. Flying in the wonderland the clouds made, he played with total abandonment of his dignity. He was really too old to be playing in clouds like this, but he didn’t care.

He threw himself into a cloud like a cannonball, gouging a hole deep into the cloud before coming to a stop. Pausing to catch his breath he jolted. “Horseapples!” he yelled, “I forgot about the boiler!”

Pigiron looked to the clock on the wall, then checked the heating metal. “It’s ready, if we leave it in any longer it’ll burn.” He gave a nod to the unicorn.

The old smithy would never admit it, but he was a bit worried about his student. Swage loved sheet-work more than anything else and he couldn’t imagine him missing this rare example of large scale white-smithing.

“Alright Quench, lets start this.”

By hoof and magic, the two hefted the glowing red sheet into the air and began swing it towards the mold that it was to be worked around.

Swage could see movement in the foundry he called home. They had started without him. “O’ man Pigiron is going to tan me!” he whined to himself.

He made a fast landing in his normal spot, center of the door, just a few feet inside the building. His eyes were on the floor as he flared his wings to stop himself. The clack of hooves hitting the stone floor was echoed by the whine of stretching metal and the sudden shout of his master. Tearing his eyes to the sound he found a red hot wall fluttering towards him. All he could do was wince. His eyes were closed, when he felt the heat of the metal tumble past him. It was a close miss.

Two voices screamed out anew in alarm. It occurred to him that his left wing had gone numb, but that was quickly replaced with a pain he would never be able to give words for.