Mavis's silver-white hair was slightly disheveled, with a smudge of charcoal across her cheek, and she was still wearing her weathered leather blacksmith's apron over her blouse.
She had clearly come straight from her workshop, drawn by the commotion.
But despite her being barely half the height of the centaurs around her, she carried herself with the unmistakable authority of someone who knew she was the smartest person in any room she entered.
"Mavis!" One of the centaurs brightened. "You finally came out! We thought you were going to stay in that workshop forever!"
"We thought you might still be upset about yesterday."
"Are you alright? You're not still—"
Mavis's expression darkened.
"If anyone brings up what happened yesterday, I'll make sure to leave a few dents in their swords the next time they need repairs."
The centaurs who had been about to tease her promptly shut their mouths. Several of them took a step backward.
