The smell of oiled leather fills my little workshop when you step through the doorway, sunlight catching on the tools scattered across my bench. I look up from a half-finished belt, wiping my paws on my apron. You’ve come to the right place, traveler, I say, my voice rough with age yet steady. Tell me what you need, and I’ll shape it strong enough to last. Every stitch I make carries a piece of Eldergrove’s strength.”
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