again.
'But how can you sleep after what we've just been through?' she squealed, her fists clenched tight at her sides.
Flint sighed heavily, sat up, and looked at her through half-lidded eyes. 'That's precisely why I need the sleep. I'm exhausted! In the last few days I've been pushed and punched and kicked and chased and dropped down a pit.
Every muscle and bone aches; the only thing holding me to gether is my skin! Do you think my face usually looks like this?' he asked, holding a cracked and swollen hand to his puffy lips, nose, and black eye. 'Adventures always drag me out.' He covered a yawn with the back of his thick, cal lused hand.
Perian looked astounded. 'You mean you've had this sort of thing happen to you before?'
He blinked. 'Sure, though the situation has become con siderably more complicated than your average dungeon crawl. Don't tell me you haven't?'
'I'm the captain of the thane's guard, for Reorx's sake!' she said despondently. 'I train troops for parade maneuvers and theoretical fighting, and I live in the plushest barrack on the richest level of Thorbardin! I am not accustomed to this!' she said, indicating the cluttered room with a wave of her hand.
He scowled. 'So that's all it is.' Flint punched his fluffy moss pillow and dropped his bushy gray head onto it. 'Lay down, take a load off your feet! Mark my words, this place won't look so bad after you've had a good rest.'
Perian stopped her fidgeting long enough to run a hand through her damp hair. 'That's just it! I can't rest here!' She frowned and looked away, then mumbled, 'If you must know, I'm dying for a rolled mossweed!' She resumed pacing.
'I'm sure the gully dwarves have some sort of weed you can smoke if you must,' the hill dwarf said in exasperation, his tone telling her what he thought of the habit of smoking dried moss. With that, he turned over again. But he could hear her mumbling behind him.
'I know it's a disgusting habit, but it's the only one — well, one of the only ones I have!' She chewed nervously on a wild hank of her hair. 'Some sort of weed, hmm? I'm used to the best dwarven mix from the north warren farms in Thor bardin, and you expect me to smoke any old dried thing?'
Flint yawned. 'I don't expect you to do anything on my account but be quiet.'
Perian had a retort prepared, when suddenly, from the doorway straight ahead came the sound of clattering glass and metal and some other unidentifiable noises as well. The mountain dwarf whirled around in surprise, and the hill dwarf shot up angrily.
'What in the — ?'
'Nomscul back with eats!' The Aghar popped up in front of Flint, the mud-streaked skin above his scruffy, unshaven chin spread in his usual eager grin.
Nomscul, they had learned, was Mudhole's shaman, the keeper of the clan's relics and lore. He served as its healer and wise man, and was widely regarded as its best cook. He was kind of its beloved leader, more for the cooking than the wisdom perhaps. Nomscul now wore a ratty, smelly wool vest that hung to his knees and was lined with pockets of differing sizes and fabrics. From his belt dangled a red cloth bag cinched with a twine. In his hands was a steaming bowl of something gray and stringy, which he shoved right under the old dwarf's big nose.
Though annoyed at first, Flint was drawn in by the rich, meaty aroma. He took another deep, satisfied breath and accepted the bent spoon Nomscul offered him. 'Wonder ful!' Flint sighed, barely pausing to speak between mouth fuls. 'What is it?'
'Grotto grubs in mushroom mash,' Nomscul answered proudly. Flint's spooning rhythm slowed for just a moment.
He looked over and saw Perian leaning against a table, first mouthful poised near her waiting lips. Her eyes wide circles of disbelief, she set the spoon down and stared into the bowl.
'You like?' the anxious gully dwarf asked Flint.
The hill dwarf set his bowl down on a table, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and hopped from the mossy bed. 'Yes,
Nomscul, it's, uh, very tasty.'
Pleased, the gully dwarf patted the potbelly that bulged below his plain, dingy shirt. He bounded for the door. 'I get more!'
'Wait!' Flint cried. The gully dwarf stopped and turned around, and Flint came to his side. 'Look, Nomscul,' he be gan, searching for the right words, 'thanks for, you know, saving us and all, but I really need to be going now.'
Perian stepped up next to Flint quickly. 'I'd like to leave, as well.' She scowled at the hill dwarf.
Nomscul's fleshy cheeks bunched up in a full smile. 'King and queen want two leaf? Stay here, I be right back!' Nod ding to himself, he dashed into the darkness of the stone tunnel beyond.
'Strangely pleasant little fellow,' Flint commented.
'Probably went to get an escort for us.'
'What was that 'king and queen' stuff?' Perian asked, staring after the gully dwarf.
Flint shrugged. 'I don't know, probably Mudhole's hon orary title for guests.' Perian nodded absently.
As they waited for Nomscul to return, Flint circled the room, looking into corners, picking up and examining little bits of gully dwarf treasure. He handed Perian a dirty, broken-toothed tortoise shell comb.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, the frawl dragged the comb's six remaining teeth through her matted hair.
'Ouch!' she snarled after one particularly stubborn rat's nest. 'I can't wait until I get out of these mud-caked clothes — I can barely bend my knees in these pants!'
Flint raised his eyebrows as a thought struck him. 'Say, where do you think you'll be heading when we get out of here?'
'Home, of course,' Perian said quickly, picking the dried mud from her pants. 'What a question. Where else… 7'
Abruptly she stopped, sucked in her breath, and clapped a hand to her mouth. 'I see what you mean! I can't go back to
Thorbardin — Pitrick thinks I'm dead! He'd never let me live now, after what happened at the pit!'
She fell back on the bed in despair. 'But where will I go?' she moaned. 'Thorbardin is my home, the Theiwar are my clan — I doubt that any other group there would take me!
And I don't know how to live anywhere but underground!'
She bit off the end of another nail.
Watching her torment, Flint smashed his hand down on a table. 'But why would you want to live among such cut throats, liars, and murderers?'
Perian bristled. 'Not everyone in Theiwar City is like Pit rick, you know,' she said. 'There are more good half-derro dwarves like me, and even many a fine full-blooded Hylar.'
'Yeah, the Great Betrayal is a testament to the charity of the blue-blooded Hylar and mountain dwarves in general!'
Flint sneered, kicking at a broken pottery shard, sending shattered pieces into the air.
Perian sat up and chuckled without humor. 'You think the mountain dwarves were all snug and warm after the
Cataclysm? Thousands of dwarves starved to death in
Thorbardin, including my grandparents! At least the hill dwarves, used to being above-ground, could forage for food!' She gave a patronizing laugh. 'You hill dwarves are such ignorant bigots!'
'At least our people have something in common,' said Flint evenly. The chamber fell uncomfortably silent.
Perian broke the silence at last, standing up, looking van quished. 'None of that matters anyway, since I can't go back there.'
'Don't worry, Perian.' Flint clapped her on the back, then felt awkward. He cleared his throat. 'You'll probably fit in above-ground better than you think. You aren't like the other Theiwar I've met.'
'You don't know the first thing about Theiwar,' Perian ac cused, her eyes blazing with fire again.
