Rustbit Glimmer crouched in the moss-covered workshop, tightening a brass valve on a mechanical frog. The small construct clicked and whirred to life, its copper legs twitching. He dreamed of building an entire army of metal creatures to guard Grimthicket's murky waters and twisted trees from danger. He stood and wiped grease from his hands onto his leather apron. The workshop around him hummed with possibility. Gears turned overhead on rusted chains. Copper pipes snaked along the walls, releasing small puffs of steam. Vines pushed through cracks in the stone, wrapping around metal workbenches. This place was perfect. Half machine, half swamp. Here, he could build his menagerie piece by piece. Each mechanical creature would patrol a different part of Grimthicket. Together, they would keep the swampland safe from threats he hadn't even imagined yet. The little frog hopped across his workbench, leaving tiny metal footprints in the dust. It was a start. But the frog was too small for real protection. Rustbit needed bigger guardians. He walked to a heavy workbench in the corner, built from dark wood and iron gears. Metal sheets lay across its surface. Hammers and tongs hung from hooks on the side. This was where he would forge the real protectors. He placed his hand on the cool metal surface and pictured a heron with steel wings. A turtle with an armored shell. A wolf made entirely of brass and clockwork. His fingers traced the edge of a copper plate. The workbench was strong enough to handle it all. Each strike of his hammer would bring the menagerie closer to life. Each creature would make Grimthicket safer. Tomorrow he would venture into the swamp itself. He needed to map the territory his guardians would protect. Rustbit grabbed a weathered signpost from beside the door. Its wooden arms pointed in four directions, each carved with space for names. Clockwork accents wrapped around the posts. He would sink these deep into the bog at key locations. North border. South pools. East thickets. West marsh. Each sign would mark where a guardian should patrol. The swampland was huge and wild. Without markers, he would lose track of which areas still needed protection. He tucked the signpost under his arm and looked back at his workshop. The mechanical frog sat watching him with glass eyes. Soon it would have company. Big company.