Xavier leaned against the stone wall of the blacksmith's shop, massaging his temples as another wave of pain crashed through his skull. The headaches had been constant since waking up in this frozen hellscape, coming at random times.
"Sorry, lad. Got no need for another pair of hands," the blacksmith said, not looking up from the sword he was hammering. "Specially not hands soft as yours. Come back when you've done some real work."
This marked the sixth rejection today. The tannery had laughed him out of the building. The stables had told him he'd spook the horses. The tavern wanted women servers not men. The lumber yard had taken one look at his slender build and pointed him to the door.
"Thanks for your time," Xavier said, pushing away from the wall.
The blacksmith grunted, hammer still rising and falling in a steady rhythm. "Try the docks. They'll take anyone with a pulse."