Damn right, he wouldn't. If he blessed every little thing she did, what kind of incentive would that be for her to work harder at her craft? No, the pistols were an excellent weapon, a pinnacle of design for their purpose, and he was quite proud of her for them.

But then he had a bear trap to see as he hobbled his way over.

To the question of himself, he kind of shrugged. Mom, that got a smile. The man was in love with his wife, after all. But he waved off the offer of 'anything'. He wasn't hungry quite yet; actually-

"Do you have time for dinner in a bit?"

And his voice, so rarely used, held the clanging of hammers and the shifting of magma, a physical warmth that spread from him. In some ways, he could hide his deity. In others, not so much.