Good, he was home after all. She'd been worried that he was preoccupied elsewhere, or had forgotten their plans for today. Why in the world was she so nervous? It was just lessons in Runeshaping! She'd wanted to learn, so she asked, and he graciously accepted! It was so simple, so easy, so commonplace. So why does she feel as if her tail was bushy if she'd had a tail!?
She never got a chance to delve deeper into these emotions of anxiety, because without noticing, she'd been standing in front of the door to his blacksmith, hand outstretched, ready to knock, yet no knock had come, spellbound in her own thoughts. This had happened a lot since the trip to his homeland all those months ago. She was doing it again. Damn it all. With annoyance, she forewent knocking, and simply walked in. Mildly amusing to her, the door actually jingled when the top edge of it knocked against a small brass bell. Quaint, for a blacksmith.
The inside was dusty. It was clear the owner hadn't had a woman in this place for the entire duration of his stay. On the walls, however, hung an unbelievable arsenal; swords, maces, axes, spears, arrows, as well as some weapons that she'd never seen in her life before, covered the shop in a tapestry of tools built for war. On stances on the floor, stood suspended suits of armor, some lightweight chainmail, others bulky and unbelievably heavy looking. Then, she spotted one of the things that had long held her interest. It glowed blue ever so faintly, and if one was close enough to it, one could hear it hum, as though full of very small, sort of bored wasps. It was a dagger. Very small, curved, with ornate, intricate symbols and patterns engraved into it. The blade's edge was exquisitely sharp, mildly serrated, and wicked to even look at. But of all of the beauty in its design, what truly caught her eye, was the source of the mild, icy-blue glow. The Runeshaping ordained the blade with three, fluent symbols, like a set of elegant tattoos on a woman's neck; not meant to be there, yet still so naturally there. The blade was Runeforged, giving it abilities its commonplace predecessor could've never achieved.
Tearing her eyes from the magnificent, magic-infused dagger, she walked past the counter, continuing through the door in the back, where the ever-present, background noise of a hammer striking metal repeatedly, was coming from. Inside stood Ofærr Stjarnagarm, the Equine master smith, ex consort to Vaxi Neferet I, Queen of the city-state they were in, and the only person in the entire 13 territories who knew Runeshaping well enough to teach it. He glanced in her direction, his scarred, muscular arm ceased striking the blade still smoldering upon his anvil.
"Apologies, miss, but I am closed in lieu of-". He did not finish his sentence. His eyes fell upon her fingers by habit, where the golden, royal seal of Draq'Nara could be seen gleaming from the forge's light. "...Other business arrangements. Good afternoon, your highness. Good to see my 'other business arrangement' managed to get here in time despite the challenges of leaving the Palace grounds unseen.", he said, welcoming her closer with an extended hand, waving her closer.
Princess Ayah of Draq'Nara removed her tattered robe, a disguise to navigate the streets unharassed, revealing herself to wear attire which did not fit royalty whatsoever; a pair of simple, brown leather britches, scuffed and ill-fitting, clearly borrowed from some secret ally in her mission to get here. A loose-fitting, white linen shirt with holes in places that required the gray, stained undershirt to keep her publicly decent. Due to her having cloven hooves instead of paws like her mother, Ayah never wore footwear of any kind. As a result, she instead wore armored leather shinguards, strapped around her calves. She stood quietly, uncertain of how to react to him. She opted for a slightly awkward half-bow, half-curtsy, which brought only a chuckle from the equine Blacksmith, who had since crossed his arms over his bare chest. "No need for such traditional greetings here, Ayah. A simple hello will suffice." She stood back up straight, relaxing ever so slightly, the tension still present as a result of her embarrassment from such an ill-timed gesture. "Of course. Sorry. I'm- Thank you! For agreeing to teach me." She said nervously. Unseen from the outside, Ayah was fighting a war against herself on the inside; why was she so nervous? She'd practiced with General Nick since she was able to hold a weapon to learn new things, yet here she was, quivering in her hooves like a schoolgirl starting in a new classroom, and it's a person she spent almost a full year with in the fields of the Frozen North, nearly dying with on several occasions, to assist him. And now here she was, having a mild anxiety attack from simply being here? Ridiculous!
"AYAH!" The voice startled her back to her senses. She stammered out "Yes, sorry, yes! Uhm...what?". "Are you reading to begin?", he asked calmly, smiling as though he knew what she was thinking, gesturing towards his forge. Clearing her throat, brushing some of her hair out of her eyes, she steeled herself and, if a bit stiffly, walked without hesitation or nervousness to him.
"First, you will watch.", he said, grabbing the hammer again and resumed forging the blade upon his anvil, holding it level and still with a pair of tongs in his left hand, and striking firmly with his right, "Runeforging always begins right before the forging is finished. It is important to know when the blade's identity has taken hold, for at that precise moment, it is the most ripe for 'new' ideas, such as runeshaping. I know you can smith, you're a Journeyman, so you have a good idea of what I'm doing here, but this is where it gets interesting.", he says with a sideways grin, observing her not looking at him, but staring at the blade as he hammered. "Now is when you'd normally quench the blade in oil, and prepare the tang to receive the hilt, guard, and bevel. However, instead, you must give the blade a life of its own. For want of a better word? A soul, to go with its identity." He lets go of the hammer, and instead whispers words. They're not Draqish, Anglo, or words of power. She has never heard the language before. It's deep, thrumming, like each syllable is the beat of a drum that reverberates over the hills. While he whispers these words, he gently takes the blade by the tang. For a split second, Ayah almost grabs his arm to stop him, but stops herself when he doesn't react at all to holding still glowing metal from the heat of the furnace. He no longer gives her instructions, or says anything she understands. He just keeps chanting in that mystical language, while he grabs what appears to be a small etching tool. It looks like it's made out of ice, or blue, cut quartz. It gleams in the light of dusk streaming in from a window behind them. While whispering, Ofærr, with his good eye closed as well as his injured one, he begins to carve a shape into the bottom of the blade, leaving behind a trail of blue light. He repeats this twice more, each symbol utterly different from the last. With each finished symbol, the blade begins to glow, and hum, with increasing intensity. Once he is done, it too, like the one hanging upon his wall in his storefront, glows and hums with vigorous intensity. He puts it down, and takes a deep breath, before opening his one good eye to look down at her. "The blade has been runeshaped. It has a soul now. It knows that it is, but not how to understand that it is It must learn to understand, through trial by fire, which I will show you tomorrow. This process is not done quickly, or rushed. Like the smith, the blade must rest, or risk being overburdened, and break under the pressure. Return tomorrow, and we will continue."

And Ayah did return the next day. And the one after that. This process continued for months. It got to the point that she no longer had to hide that she was leaving the palace. Within days, all around town, people knew where she was going, and it was finally understood why the smithy closed his shop with no explanation, everyday, one hour early. Day after day, week after week, Ayah watched, listened, and learned, until he felt she knew enough to try for herself. Disasters became failures, failures became complications, until one day...

"Uthum uwaeha. Tordon Reghen ock Lynildsvandr..."
"Don't just speak the words Ayah. Feel them, harness them, take hold of them, and guide them, and then let them speak for you!"
"Uthum uwaeha. Tordon Reghen ock Lynildsvandr....Modreden Veltagrandene Sværddans...Vel dok bloive indtilr mik. Veltagrandene til tordon reghen ock lynildsvandr...komm til mik, modreden, ock giv derenne sværddans liv."

She opened her eyes, and to her amazement, in her right hand lay the engraving tool, and in her left, was the blade of a sword, with three runes set into the blade's side. It glowed and hummed with the life it was given. But unlike before, it was no longer just humming. The sword spoke, a constant stream of words. Ofærr could tell she noticed, and with a smile, he spoke softly: "You cannot understand them yet, young one, but if you keep learning the secrets hidden in those words, you will not only understand them, they will understand you."

It was dark outside before Ayah lifted her eyes from the forge again, having been determined to finish the blade, before a heavy hand fell on her shoulder. "It is late, your highness. You must return home before you are missed." She looked up at him, sighing. "I will go in another hour! It's still early enough, I just need t-", he interrupted her with a rough grunt. "You know your mother as well as you do, young one. She will deploy the entire garrison in the city, including every last one of her agents, to find you. The entire city will be locked down until you are found, and door-to-door searches will begin immediately. She will not stop until you're found. We both know this, so please, go get some sleep. We will continue tomorrow."
Regretfully, Ayah stopped, putting down the tools. She turned around, bumping straight into his chest. "UNLESS...You came clean to her and admitted you were here, learning runeshaping with me. Then she'd know where you were, and wouldn't feel the need to literally invert her entire city-state and shake it violently until you dropped out of it." He said with a chuckle, bringing a smile to Ayah's own lips. "I think she'd do so anyway just for something more fun to do than sitting in the Palace all day." She mused. Only then did she realize how close she'd gotten to her. Given the raised eyebrows, he'd noticed too. She glanced sideways to the mug sitting next to her on the work bench. "Yeah, I think we both had too much." Ofærr said, following her gaze. "...Or not enough...", Ayah said, her cheeks reddening while not increasing the gap between them. "We're probably gonna need more." He said, his voice growing thicker. "A lot more..." Ayah agreed, her own voice growing thicker, before their slowly approaching lips met in a cautious kiss, which soon escalated into a feverishly intense one.
Gasping, huffing, puffing, and moaning, the two struggled out of their clothes. Any that seemed too difficult to remove, or took too long to remove, was simply torn apart. When they were both naked, Ofærr hoisted Ayah up, planting her plump, youthful ass on the work bench, his erection resting against her stomach while he leaned in to kiss her further. It didn't take long before Ofærr flipped Ayah over with a grunt and a snort, only to lift her legs onto the table individually. "Oh! That's an interesting position...?" Ayah mused while looking over her shoulder. "I know how flexible you are, young one. When you're with someone this agile, one simply cannot miss out on experiencing some fantasies....Bring your cock out." he said, in an almost commanding, albeit slightly drunken, tone. "My cock? Wait, I didn't know you were into t-" , "Just do it..." He said commandingly again, emphasizing his point by using his nearly two feet long beast of a cock, to slap her jiggling ass cheek. She giggled, surprised, but entertained. "Fine, since you asked soooo nicely!", she cooed. With a brief glow, her tight-lipped cunt vanished, replaced by her fourteen inches of knotted cock, and a low-hanging sack of modest balls. She looked over her shoulder, a knowing, raised eyebrow looking at him with a grin. "Better?", she mused, using her fully split legs to bounce her pelvis, causing her ass to jiggle, her balls to bounce, and her cock to sway like a heavy, fleshy pendulum under her from the edge of the table. "Oh...Much better." Ofærr said.