Cole's forge had been patched with quick drying cement, so it should be good to work as far as Circe knew about forging. Not cement rated for withstanding heat, and given magical fire was involved probably not a good idea.

But ignorance and arrogance have been Circe's persistent, detrimental companions of late. Why else would she be using fireplace tongs, a claw hammer, and scrap metal to test the forge for making a sword?

Why because she thought that was all it took to make a hunk of stabby metal to shank somebody with.

A thought which would likely have vexed the previous owner.

She got the forge running, and tried swinging the hammer at the heated bit of scrap metal. As it was resting on the side of the forge. Circe had not gotten an anvil.

Circe realized something important. It was getting really really hot all of a sudden. Why? Because quick drying cement doesn't make for good magical forge repairs nor anvils.

"Fanculo!" With a cry of shock Circe lost the scrap and hammer into the fire pit as she stumbled back from the flames bursting out. She'd at least been smart enough to get a heavy smock which was quickly ditched because it was on fire.

Halfway across the Hollow, Circe stops to scowl at the burning pit and curses it out in Italian. "Okay, so it ain't gonna be that easy ta fix. Fine," she snarks at nothing, "Probably have ta Hedgespin it back together or something. Wo wo wo, magic woo," Circe waves her hands above her head while whining. Not that she'd call it that but it was accurate. "Fanculo, maybe I should just stick with the guns. Way better then the pig stickers."