This one day seemed to have stretched to an impossible length by now; had she really returned to Redcliffe in the early hours of this morning? It seemed ages ago, almost; though the surprise meeting of Imenry's old friend had forestalled Signy's rinsing off and falling into bed; what she had finally learned of the last night's activities of her fellow Wardens… no, Warden, upon making it back to the castle, prevented it altogether. It wasn't that she hadn't tried, but after rinsing off and lying down, sleep had simply not come.
Eventually, the dwarf had risen and headed back down to the village to see what could be done. She could not build the town defenses in a day, although every time she looked up towards the hills, and to all the open spaces that surrounded Redcliffe, she felt the pang of missing Orzammar, and not only for the people or the familiarity. The heavy stone doors and walls that separated the thaig from the darkspawn outside seemed a thousand times the comfort of this place and it's ill defenses. Imenry and her friend, Brennan, were about—if Imenry had found rest, Signy neither knew nor asked, mostly because she did not want to compare it to her own sleepless state.
Eventually, she had drifted to the smithy; she had been there once before, but now she was a Warden, and she was much less terrified to speak to the smith at work there. (Which was not to say that she was not terrified.) It had not taken much convincing—or much display of her knowledge—before the old man who owned the forge was allowing her to sharpen blades. He had a long backlog, and Signy had spent, now, the better part of an hour helping him move through it. The work helped focus her mind, and ease her nerves; it also, she found, helped her feel less tired. The world shrunk down until it was contained merely in the edge of steel she was working on, the tools, the crackling of the forge, her name being spoke—
That jarred her, and she broke the pace of her work, looking up. It took her eyes a moment to focus, and she found the face of the mage from the Tower. Lee, wasn't it? She blinked, understanding quickly replacing her wide-eyed confusion. "If you have so many requests, I would not want to burden you with more, when I could make my own. Well. Not poisons," that gave her pause, but not a pause all that long, for poisons seemed eminently useful things. "... but I suppose a great many will be needed." She glanced around the forge; the stack of swords and daggers waiting to be sharpened had dwindled, and she was overheating as it was. And poultices might be just as necessary as weapons, when the next attack came (and Signy, dwarven as she was, was convinced a next attack would come, and soon). "Instead--well, do you need a hand? To help in gathering more?"