The Anvil had no understanding of the passage of time like other sentient beings did. Each day for the Anvil was like a blink of an eye. It had been this way ever since it had been given its own form, its own body. Despite this, however, the Anvil was aware of panging that it was not familiar with. A...loneliness. Yes, that was the word. The Anvil was quite alone.

It had been sitting in its little shrine for a very long time; of that, the Anvil was sure. But for how long? That, the Anvil did not know. Nor did it really care. It'd had plenty of time alone, it thought, and it was ready for something new. Was it not an Anvil? Were Anvils not meant to be used? The Anvil decided that it needed to fulfill its purpose. It needed a Smith.

Though, the Anvil was not yet sure how it would go about getting one.