"Yeah, so don't-- books and judging and covers-- you know the drill," he mutters, waving a hand dismissively. Sparks Nevada, master wordsmith.

"Needs shoes for the front two legs, yeah. Do Blacksmiths here have this kinda knowledge, though? Robots ain't really a thing here." An honest question, really. He only knows one other Blacksmith here, and never asked about how the job worked.

Mercury, at least, has forgiven MarKus and is fine with him approaching, and even gives him an appraising sniff.