As they exited into the city, they noticed Dwarves scurrying about, obviously preparing for an evacuation. Some stared, but they all kept going, their business obviously far more important than the visitors. And, she noticed, everyone, down to the children, were armed.

A couple of guards approached them. Moriel watched as their leader spoke to Gronk, then told them all to come along, to meet some old Dwarf, probably some kind of leader. The room they were taken to was empty, and Moriel took up a place by the wall, trying to look unaffected as they waited.

After a while, a very old Dwarf, older, even, than Gronk, entered. As he saw Gronk, he gasped. Moriel narrowed her eyes slightly, quietly piecing together the information she had gotten so far; mostly the reaction of the Dwarves they had met so far. She wanted to ask, but decided it was not that important. Gronk did not want to talk about it, and so she would respect that, for now, at least.

The old Dwarf was clearly glad to see Gronk, though he was trying hard not to show it. The way they spoke, however, and what they said, and not said, just helped strenghtening her suspicions. The comment about the king being dead clinched it. That was not the truth, since there obviously was a prince. And since they called him _the_ prince, it meant there was only one. Still, it was becoming more and more clear that Gronk was not just another Dwarf, that he had ties to the royal family. Close enough that he could mock the king without being contradicted. The other Dwarf did not even look like he _wanted_ to protest.

One of the humans then started talking as if he thought they could do something about the horde. Typically human. Here, the Dwarves had fought for something like three decades, for longer than most of them, possibly everyone except she and Gronk had lived. And here comes the human, thinking he can do what the Dwarves could not do for the past thirty years.

Dorn asked them if they were hungry, then set out a meal that showed clear signs of the Dwarves’ isolation. Fungus, bread, but nothing fresh. She hesitated for a moment, then added some of her own rations, a couple of fresh fruits. The look on Dorn’s face when he bit into it was payment enough.

Gronk and Dorn spoke for a while, and then one of the guards came back from an errand, carrying some scrolls. Dorn told them they could not bring the scrolls with them, but they were free to copy them, a task that was casually delegated to Banagher, who marched off. He seemed upset for some reason, and Moriel wondered why. She followed him into the other room, not entirely sure what to do or say.

“What?” He _sounded_ annoyed too. She was not sure whether it was because he was told to do the copying, or some other reason. There was no reason he should be the one to do all the work, if nothing else, anyone able to draw a little bit should be able to copy at least the maps.

“Anything I can do to help?” That, at least, she could do. And she doubted Banagher was willing to talk now.

“Can you draw out those caverns on this sheet of paper?”

She looked at the map. It should not be too hard. She nodded. “I can do that.”

“Then, please do. SHE wants us to hurry.” So, that was it? His goddess was pushing him, obviously. Moriel had no idea what to say. While she did not share the humans’ view of gods, this was not the time to question his faith or his goddess. So instead, she concentrated on her job. It was not exactly difficult, all it took was some patience. She could not help but wonder why none of the others offered to help, especially since they seemed eager to be off.

Eventually, the two of them finished, and Moriel handed the finished maps to Banagher. As they headed out, Gronk told them he had gotten permission to bring them through a hall with statues, but that for surface dwellers to look upon those statues would be an insult to his people.

She was not sure she believed him. It made no sense. Statues were, after all, _meant_ to be seen. So, what was it that Gronk did not want them to see? A statue of himself, maybe?

Then she suddenly had her hands full trying to keep Poppy from shooting Gronk. Not that she blamed the Halfling; the Dwarf was way out of line. Maybe it was different for the humans, but to fish for sympathy for his people, who might be dying, from Poppy and herself, that was an insult. She was of half a mind to grab her bow and shoot the Dwarf herself. But the only ones who would profit from that were their enemies. It was not worth it. Besides, deep into Dwarven territory, shooting someone who was obviously important among the Dwarves was not exactly a good idea.

She walked over to Poppy, crouching down in front of her.

“Poppy, I think we should do as he says.” Well, not really. She wanted to confront the Dwarf, but Poppy had already said what needed to be said. Moriel had nothing to add to it.

“He’s too high and mighty. He thinks his people are the only ones that suffered.” The Halfling was right. Moriel’s own people were dying, but that was different. They were an ancient race, and like any living thing, her people had reached the end of their lifespan. They, Moriel herself included, had accepted this, at least to some extent. The idea of being left all alone terrified her, though. And at some point, it would happen. But she had centuries still until she needed to worry about that.

Her greatest regret was that there would be no more children. To her knowledge, Moriel was the youngest, the last to be born, eighty, no, eighty-one years ago now. There might be one or two more, perhaps, but she would never have any of her own. Poppy was probably the closest thing to a child she would ever have. And maybe that was why the Elves had not objected when she took Poppy in.

A far greater tragedy were the Halflings. They were just children, in more ways than one, perhaps the youngest of the races. And they were being hunted to extinction. The Elves had lived a long, full life, for tens of thousands of years. The Dwarves had, after all, caused their problems themselves, first by digging too deep, then by not asking for help. And she wondered what role Gronk had played in those decisions. The Halflings had done nothing at all to warrant what was being done to them.

“I know, dear. But now is not the time. We are in his lands now, so we follow his rules.” Much as it bothered her. Maybe she was being unfair. Maybe she was expecting more from the Dwarf than she would have from the humans. Still. She remembered how she had found Poppy, just a child, covered with ash, hiding beneath some bushes, the only one to survive the attack on her homestead. _That_ had been the fate of the Halflings, ash, destruction and death.

At least Poppy was willing to listen to reason. Moriel breathed a sigh of relief as Poppy took the piece of cloth from her, tying it over her eyes. She just hoped Poppy would forgive her this. And she hoped that Gronk had told the truth, that this was not just an attempt to hide something from them, out of pride, or shame, or some other stupid reason.

When they reached the other side of the hall, and she and Poppy removed their blindfolds, she realised that they were the only ones who had been wearing them. She just hoped Poppy did not notice.

She tried to give the Halfling a hug, but Poppy just pushed her away, then headed down the tunnel. Sighing, she followed, hoping that Poppy would eventually forgive her.

As they passed through the tunnels, they spotted something written on the wall. It looked out of place, and judging from Gronk’s expression, it was not supposed to be there.

“The woman is a lie.” The same words they had found in Leitus’ cave. And for some reason, that seemed to anger Banagher. Odd, that. It was as if the writing on the wall was talking about his goddess. Perhaps it was, but there was still no reason to get angry, she thought. Even if it were her the unknown writer had been thinking of, it was just a writing on the wall.

She did not have much knowledge or experience with human religion, but the only reason she could see for his anger would be that he had been having the same thoughts himself, and did not like to be reminded of it. Or that the words simply fed his own doubts.

On the way to the vaults, they passed a group of Dwarven soldiers, clearly abandoning the chokepoint they had been guarding. That seemed odd to her. Moriel would have thought that this would be a perfect place to stop the goblin hordes. Unless, of course, the goblins had found another way through; in that case, it might not matter.

They reached the vaults without trouble. It was an impressive sight, and it might be the third largest library, or rather, collection of artifacts, in the entire world, only overshadowed by the two Elven archives, one in the south and one in the north.

Poppy scampered off in a random direction, clearly curious. Moriel sighed, and followed, just to make sure Poppy did not get into any trouble. She did not think the Halfling had forgiven her yet, so she kept back, not saying anything.

She noticed Gronk and one of the humans continue downwards, past her and Poppy. The Dwarf, at least, seemed to know where he was going. Hopefully, he knew where to find what they were after.

Then she heard the yell. It sounded like someone had attacked Gronk and the human who had gone downstairs with him. She ran downstairs, closely followed by Poppy.

The sight of the person fighting Gronk and the human almost brought her to a halt. The first thing she noticed was the way he moved. And he was, from what she could see, a master. Even before she let her arrow fly, she knew what would happen. But still, even an etu’sauri had his limits, and every arrow from her he had to deflect would take attention away from the others. And etu’sauri or not, she doubted he could defeat them all.

Only then did she truly notice that it was an Elf. Unlike any she had seen before, but she knew exactly what he was. A Deep Elf. At least his sword, that much she could see even from here, was not a true etu’sauri blade.

Then Gronk got in a lucky, or skilled, blow, and the Deep Elf collapsed, his head crushed. She lowered her bow and walked over to the body.

The sword was a cheap fake. Its balance was all wrong, it was heavier than it should be. But the fact that they had even tried was worrying. Even more so was the fighting style. Someone had to have taught him, after all. And the idea of more Deep Elves with those skills was chilling.

Searching the body, she did not quite know what she expected to find. She very much doubted she would find anything useful; he would certainly not have carried anything that would have given her a clue as to where he had learned to fight like an etu’sauri.

He did not have much. A few coins of different kinds, and some other stuff, nothing of interest. Except the coins. She looked at one of them. A Dwarven coin. With the head of the Dwarven king on it. And all the pieces fell into place.

She pocketed the coin, wondering what to do about it. She would not tell the others just yet. Not even Poppy. Not until she had decided what the best course of action would be.

After all, she could always tell the others if she thought it was important, but she could not unsay the words, should she speak too early, and then find that Gronk actually had had a good reason for keeping quiet. Besides, she was still angry with him for what he had said to Poppy, and making a decision while she was angry with him would be unwise.

She sheated the Deep Elf’s sword, tying it to her pack. If she could, she was going to bring it home. If nothing else, the knowledge might be of interest to her people. She was not sure what the etu’sauri would say when they heard of this.

While she had searched the body, Gronk had obviously found what he was looking for. A strange, cylindrical device with a switch, and a small box made out of stone.

One of the humans flipped the switch on the device, and the walls seemed to fade, to give way to images.

The images told the story of Ari Stonehand. Of how Kishara had come to him and demanded his service. How he refused, and they tortured his wife before his eyes, for months, using magic to keep her alive. And every night, his daughter sang for him, a sad lullaby.

And when even the Kisharans’ magic could no longer keep his wife alive, when they started on his daughter, the first time his daughter did not sing for him, he went mad. They put his daughter’s soul into a ring, gave it to him, and forced him to serve them. Then the pictures faded, and the walls were just walls again.

Moriel pulled her hood up, not wanting the humans and the Dwarf to see how deeply the story had touched her, not wanting them to see her tears. To live for tens of thousands of years with these memories, a terrible fate, not one she would have wished on her worst enemy. And the humans _wanted_ immortality. They really could not understand what they were wishing for.

As she headed for the exit, she noticed Gronk opening the small stone box. A tune started playing; quite possibly the lullaby Ari’s daughter had sung for her father. She pulled the hood further down, desperately wanting some privacy.

She wished they had been closer to the surface. She wanted to be alone right now, with nothing but open sky above her. She wanted, no _needed_, time to think about all she had seen and learned.

There were so many things that did not fit. According to the images, Ari was not an Elf, but a human. Not that it mattered at all for the story itself, and there might be a logical explanation for it. Maybe the artifact had been created much later. Maybe it took on a form that the viewers would sympathise with, and used the race of whoever flipped the switch. Maybe this had happened somewhere else. It was impossible to say. She wished she could have shown the artifact to her people, wondering what the Elves at Sidarth’minwe would have made of this story.

As they reached the room with the statues, she walked over to Gronk. She was not entirely sure why; it was rash, but she wanted him to know that she knew.

She pricked him on the shoulder to get his attention, then held out her hand. “I have something of yours. Here.” She placed the coin in his hand, then stared at him for several heartbeats before putting the blindfold on. She was not sure if he would understand. She was certain the humans would not have, had they noticed. But at least he did not argue when Poppy this time refused a blindfold.

They returned without incidents to Karak’Ven. Poppy was clearly still annoyed, and started asking questions about why the Dwarves were leaving the chokepoint they had seen earlier. And courtesy aside, she did have a point.

She listened as it became more and more obvious that one of the leaders had acted outside of his authority. He wanted to retreat, to save lives. But it seemed Gronk was dealing with it, no need for her to say anything.

Not that it did not anger her. That they had managed to release the deep-dwellers was one thing; that was, after all, a mistake. Everyone makes them from time to time. But they had kept quiet for decades. And any day, the deep-dwellers could break through to the surface, and any edge they might have gotten against the Kisharans might no longer matter. And Gronk? Gronk had been right in the middle of things, might even have made the decisions himself.

She half expected Gronk to stay with his people. Why would the king leave his people in a time like this, especially when it was obvious he was welcome back? Had he not been, they would have crowned the prince. Or perhaps the Dwarves had different customs. But as they headed towards the surface, he joined them.

As they walked, she heard footsteps. Someone was following them. Several someones, making no attempt to move silently. It did not sound like goblins. Most likely Dwarves, she decided. Possibly an escort of a kind, more likely someone who wanted to join their fight, or rather, follow their king into his self-imposed exile.

They stopped, and turned to face whoever was following. And as they came slowly into view, she had to laugh. There was nothing funny about half an army of trollslayers; there had to be around fifty of them. Nothing funny at all, really, but she was on the way out of these tunnels, into the open again. They had just gained a group of new allies, and whatever she might think of Gronk, she had to admit that he could at least fight.

And she wanted to chase away the memories of the story they had seen, and the lullaby from the music box, if only just for a while.

Then she heard Poppy yell. She rushed over, but it was obvious even before she got there that the halfling was unharmed. It seemed she had fallen into what must have been some sort of a cell. The walls were covered in writing with what appeared to be dried blood. Most of it looked like the ramblings of a madman, though one of the lines caught her attention; it had been repeated over and over: “The woman is a lie.”

For some reason, that particular message did not seem like the rest of the ramblings. Not that she had any idea what it meant; it might well be ramblings with no real meaning. Or it might be a reference to something that had nothing at all to do with them. It might even be a reference to someone they had met, or knew of. She wondered who the prisoner had been, and what had happened to him or her.

Their search turned up nothing more of interest, and eventually, they returned to Hillcrest, only to find it strangely empty. It seemed that the enemy had been making a push from High Guard, and most of the army was up at Everwatch.

Moriel was rather surprised when they, rather than being told to aid with the defense, were told to take a few days off. Not that the team would make much of a difference against the Kisharan forces. Still.

A couple of days later, they received their next assignment. To find out what had happened to the dwarves. Gronk did not seem happy about it. She could not help but wonder why he had left, whether it had been voluntary or not, and whether there would be problems when or if they met other dwarves.

In fact the dwarf was even more grumpy than usual, but it was not until the last day before they reached the gates that he told them why the dwarves had closed the gates, why they had sealed themselves off from the world. The reason and implications of that were chilling. It did not help that Gronk said that the dwarves might be all gone.

The idea of the dwarves being gone from the world was staggering. The Kisharans had practically wiped out the halflings, at least the ones in the south, and unless the Northland army could find a way to drive the Kisharans back through the Waygate, they would sooner or later do the same in the north. The elves were dying, had been for centuries. In a millennium or two, they would be gone as well. And now the dwarves. All that would be left, were the gnomes, and the humans. She was not sure she wanted to see what kind of world they would build.

The next day, they reached their destination. The doors were massive. There were no way in the world they could bring those down. Besides, these doors might be all that stood between the surface and whatever dark hordes were waiting inside.

But Gronk obviously knew how to open the gates. As they entered through the gates of Karak’Ven, Moriel wondered what they would meet. The tunnels were dark, of course, and it felt as if the walls were leaning inwards, threatening to crush them all.

As they moved through the tunnels, they heard voices. First, something that sounded like dwarves, and then something that was unmistakenly an orc. The sounds came from a side-passage, and Moriel and Poppy slipped down to scout.

Down the corridor they saw several Chaos dwarves, clearly preparing to blow up some dwarven construction of some sort. The two of them returned to the others and told them what they had seen. Gronk looked worried, and explained that if the Chaos dwarves succeeded, anyone left in Karak’Ven would choke to death, as the construction was a ventilation system keeping the city supplied with fresh air.

They had to do something, of course. The fight did not last long, and went well enough, despite the Chaos dwarves’ attempts to blow the entire place up.

Afterwards, they carried the explosives down to a large cave they had passed through earlier, and broke the kegs, spreading the gunpowder on the floor, making it very unlikely that anyone would be able to use it to blow up the ventilation system.

At least it meant, she hoped, that some of the dwarves were still alive. The chaos dwarves and orcs would not have bothered to blow up the ventilation system, unless they wanted to kill off whoever remained in the city. It probably also meant that something must have happened recently; it had been fifteen years since Gronk had heard from the dwarves inside the mountains, so the attempt to kill off Karak’Ven had to be a recent one.

Maybe the failed greenskin invasion had prompted this. Or maybe, she reflected, the dark ones had started fighting among themselves, and the plan was to kill off rival orcs and chaos dwarves, rather than dwarves.

As they resumed their journey, she had to wonder if the humans were going to claim that the _dwarves_ now owed them a debt as well. Not that it mattered, the dwarves might not even be able to repay anything at all.

She just had to hope, for both Gronk’s and the other dwarves’ sake, and for the world in general, that the dwarves were still alive.

There were no guards outside the cave, but there _were_ ten horses. Ten black _Elven_ horses. She should have expected that; her people would not have been pleased by what Leitus had done, but no more than ten? She was trying hard to remember who they would be; the black horses, they were clearly some sort of elite, but she could not remember hearing of any such force.

They entered cautiously. The place was deserted. Here and there, they came across bodies, clearly far gone in warpstone poisoning. They had been slain, though, with blades. It was hard to tell from the wounds what kind of blades had been used, or even the techniques, but a suspicion was nagging at the back of her head.

And then they found them. Ten of them. Etu’sari, not apprentices, but masters. Ten. Her mind staggered. Desperately wishing for the others to keep their mouths shut. The thought of them chattering and tossing out random thoughts like they used to in this company worried her enough to gather her thoughts. She stepped forward, before she really had time to think about it too much, and bowed. Deeply.

“Greetings apprentice. What brings you to this foul place?” It was the one she assumed was the leader of the group who spoke, and he spoke, of course, in Elven. A mercy, that. If the others did not understand, chances were they would not insult anyone either. As for Gronk and Banagher, she doubted any of them would be that careless.

“We are here to find a way to stop the goblins.” Not her best, but her mind was still reeling. Ten. That had to be every etu’sari that the Elves of Ar’Avariel could muster. Did the others even realise what it meant?

“Ah. They are not our concern. We were sent to seek retribution.” Of course. That was as expected. Leitus could not be allowed to get away with what he did. She was somewhat surprised, however, at the speed of which the Elves had reaccted. No matter how threatened they felt, to manage to gather ten etu’sari in a matter of days, she had not expected that.

“He was already gone?” She knew the answer. It was in their faces, their voices, their choice of words, and the obvious lack of corpses that they had not.

“He was. He left behind those of his cult who were too badly warped to be useful. We put them out of their misery.” That did not need any comments; of course they had. To leave them as they had been would have been cruel.

As she spoke with the etu’sari, one of the humans said, quite loud, something about the Elves owing the humans for saving them. She bit back an angry retort. If there was a debt there, it was to Poppy. The Halfling was the one who had gone in, alone, without asking anyone, to get the device. And Dorothea was, after all, Poppy’s home as well. As for the humans, she remembered that they had not been willing to help, they had told her to wait, and had even told her she was ‘unhinged’ when she voiced her fury against Leitus. If the Elves owed the humans anything, it was for letting them borrow the device, after Poppy had stolen it, for Moriel’s sake.

And even had there been a debt here, this was not the time, nor the place, to bring it up. Nor the right group. They were here for a reason, and that was not something that could be set aside. Even the humans should have been able to figure that one out. The fact that ten etu’sari were here should be enough for anyone to realise that they were here for a reason, one that could not be abandoned.

They had, at least some of them, of course understood what the human had said, but they did not comment upon it. So she did not answer the human. He did not really _deserve_ a response.

Then Poppy, who had been skipping around in the room, found something. A shipping manifest, suggesting that Leitus might have fled to the Eastern Wastes. It was something, at least. The etu’sari prepared to leave, intending to check out the lead.

As they were about to leave, Moriel stopped them. She quickly explained why they needed the warpstone, and the etu’sari agreed to let the humans have the warpstone, if they found Leitus, and had a way to safely transport it. Most likely, they would not find Leitus until it was too late for the warpstone to actually help, but asking did no harm, just in case the etu’sari got lucky.

“Well, if we haven’t heard from them in a few days, we’ll come help search.” That was one of the humans. She bit back a laugh, or tried, at least. The etu’sari thought it might take months; Moriel thought that it might take even longer. Leitus was old, clever, and it might take years to track him down. Especially if he divided his followers, and took only a few with him.

As the etu’sari left, she watched them, part of her wanting to go with them. But she had most likely played her part in that story, at least for now. She and Poppy had done their part, and not a minor one either, really.

Besides, they had other things to do. Moriel went to tell the soldiers close to the other entrance to start their distraction. As an afterthought, she also told them to make sure the goblins could not use the flooded mine as a second exit they could attack from, should she and the others fail.

Like getting through the flooded mine and stop the greenskins. At least with Gronk’s help, they found a way to lower the water-level enough that there were pockets of air along the tunnel. Leaving behind any equipment that would be ruined by the water, they all somehow made their way through the flooded tunnels.

Banagher worried her somewhat, though. He seemed different, it was almost as if he did not care what happened. She was half expecting him to pull some reckless stunt, and decided to keep an eye on him.

The room they surfaced in was empty. The room was clearly in use, but clearly, the goblins were distracted. Not that the horde was hard to find; not far down the corridor, there were hundreds, if not thousands of goblins, trying to get out, most likely as a response to the diversion the army was staging.

As they discussed how to bring the tunnel down, Banagher suddenly lit the fuses on the powderkegs and grabbed them. Before she had the time to do anything at all, he vanished, with a small, popping sound. Not much, but enough for the goblins to notice them.

Then Banagher was there again. Without the powderkegs. With the goblins rushing at them, there was no time for questions, as they retreated towards the water-filled mine, though Moriel had not the faintest idea how they were going to get through the mine ahead of the goblins.

Suddenly, the room lit up, and Banagher seemed to be on fire. She could hear the goblins scream, and then they were inside the chamber, door barred.

Then they heard a muted thump, far too muted, she though, for it to have gone off at the top of the bloom. They waited until there was nothing but silence outside the door.

Moriel slipped outside to scout. Outside the door, there was nothing but charred goblin corpses. As she rounded a corner, careless now, since the goblins seemed to be all dead, she stared straight at three soldiers from the 3rd Battalion. At least she assumed that was what they were. They stared back, clearly more surprised than her.

Her thoughts raced. She had an idea what she looked like; almost naked, covered in goblin blood, armed with a wooden sword. As the soldiers stared, she wondered if there existed any dignified way to handle this encounter at all. In the end, all she could think of was to nod at them, once, before turning around, walking back to let the others know that the coast was clear.

They walked past the troops, pretending that there was nothing odd about their group at all, as they headed back towards the entrance to Leitus’ cave.

Then she heard it. A deep, rumbling voice, not entirely unlike what she imagined the earth itself would have sounded like, had it been given a voice. Signalling for the others to stop, she dismounted and continued forward on foot.

Then the humans made one of their strange decisions again. Not just one, but _all_ of them decided to follow, even the humans no more able to move quietly than, well, the average human. And of course, one of them just _had_ to stumble and fall.

The voice fell silent.

Had the situation been less grave, and the dragon less terrifying, she would have found the chaos that followed entertaining. But it was a real dragon; she could not think of anything else that it could be, though it had some strange, black tendrils surrounding it, seemingly causing it pain.

She wanted to step forward, to talk to the creature. It, and the black mist tendrils surrounding it. Maybe it was the size, or the fact that it looked like a dragon, but it _felt_ ancient, in a way that even Elves did not.

But Gronk stepped forward and started talking to it. And the dragon, well, it sounded as if it _knew_ Gronk, though Gronk did not seem to recognise it. That was curious, she thought, and though there were several explanations she could imagine, some seemed more likely than others. Perhaps the dragon could take another shape. Or perhaps it was mistaken, that it was not Gronk it had seen. Not very likely, she thought.

She kept quiet, listening to them speak. The dragon said something about not being the one who controlled the goblin horde. But for some reason, the logical question was never asked. But by now, she was getting the impression that this had become personal. It had to be something that had happened in Karak ap’ Karak; the dragon was not, after all, responsible for the death of Gronk’s friend. But the dragon’s mention of Karak ap’Karak seemed to have triggered something in Gronk.

When the dragon attacked, she was not too surprised, though she suspected that Gronk had given it little choice. Not that it changed things, of course. Still, its death, when it came, was something she would have avoided, had she been able to. It was, all things considered, a magnificant creature.

She walked over to it, whispering an apology. Not that it mattered, of course; it was dead. And she wondered if it was the last of its kind. There could not be many like it left in any way, still, she did not much like the thought that they might have killed the last of them.

The tentacles were still there, misty and black, so she did not touch it. Instead she sighed, and went to get the horses. Rather that, than watch as the others were working on cutting off the dragon’s head. It felt wrong, somehow, irreverent.

As she was getting close to the horses, she heard sounds of battle. She rushed back, and saw a man, a Strangler, she thought, attacking the others. It might be her imagination, but she thought this fight was harder than the dragon.

When the Strangler finally went down, she noticed his bracelet. The black tendrils that had surrounded the dragon seemed to disappear into the it, and she could not help but wonder if the dragon had been controlled by the Strangler. And if so, had it really been necessary to kill it, or could they have found a way around it? But if Gronk had some issue with it…

She shrugged mentally, then went to get the horses. As she came back, just in case, she took up a position that would let her at least keep some sort of watch, in case there were more around.

And as she watched Banagher trying to heal one of the others, there was an odd sound, Banagher looked … upset? and walked away. She hesitated for a moment, then followed. He was standing not far from the camp, and she stopped a few feet away, not sure if her presence was welcome or not.

“What happened?”

“I failed.” She just kept looking at him, expecting him to continue, but he just shook his head. She nodded slowly, trying to figure out what he meant. It had to be more than this, she thought, watching as he walked back to the others.

On the way back to Hillcrest, she found an opportunity to talk to him again. And his words told her a lot.

“Sometimes, I get the feeling that She has turned Her back on me.” So, his goddess, then. There were so many things she could say, but she was not sure what would help.

“I do not know your goddess. But if she did, would you not have _known_? All the time?” That came out clumsy, but she hoped he understood what she meant.

“I have no idea.” There was something in his voice, something that made her think that her own people had the right idea, not to depend on, or trust in, the gods. For while the beings that the humans called gods were powerful, it did not mean they were worthy of the attention and devotion that the humans gave them. Granted, either Banagher or his goddess had destroyed the enemy’s fleet, but she was starting to wonder if it might be Banagher who did that all along.

“Why would she turn away from you?” She had her own thoughts on that, but she was not going to voice them. He did not, definitely not, need to hear what she was thinking.

“Why would I know? Maybe I’m not worthy.” He sounded grumpy. She almost wanted to laugh at the irony. Here she was, trying to advice a human on religion. A _religious_ human, even. She wanted to grab hold of him and shake him. But at least she thought she was beginning to see what the problem was, some of it, anyhow.

She thought carefully, trying to find the right words, the words that might work either way. “Or maybe you did not need her enough.” An ambiguous statement, on purpose. Being human, he would probably find some other, strange way of interpreting it, though.

“That may be as well.” He fell quiet, looking as if he was thinking. “Those words contain more wisdom than perhaps you realize.” It was, she thought, one of the more arrogant things he had said, though she did not think he had meant it that way. Considering the way the humans tended to speak without thinking, she supposed it was understandable.

She wondered which interpretation he had landed on. Hopefully, he would start to realise that he was relying too much upon his goddess, that he was not trying hard enough on his own, not trusting himself enough. It was strange how the humans were willing to cripple themselves in that way.

Hesitating, there was one more thing she wanted to tell him. “Maybe you need to know what parts of you are really _you_. And then maybe she will be there again. But you are becoming too much Her, and too little you.” She left him to his thoughts; she had already said more than she had intended.

“So many are dead. Why does everyone have to die? So many good people are just gone. Even the dragon!”

“I have a dragon tooth… It takes up a lot of room in my pack, so perhaps I’ll get it made into a helmet. I’ve seen people with the horned helmets before. Surely mine would look quite fine with a dragon tooth! It would be the most impressive battle hat around!”

“I still have Moriel…she’s stronger. She’s finally becoming what she needs to be. She’s finally starting to understand her place. I’m proud of my Moriel. Someday…someday she may not be mine anymore. I see it happening. There’s no stopping it. Then what would I do?”

Poppy leans towards the shrub a little bit, as if telling it a secret…
“You know, death makes you enjoy life all the more. Not that I’m worried about dying…you know, being immortal and all. Even if I did die, I wouldn’t be scared! I’d just be following in the footsteps of most everyone I’ve ever known. It’s not a big deal, death that is. As long as I’m remembered. That’s the important part.”

Poppy chuckles a little.

“I’ll have to buy some more bows and ribbon.” She mutters while tromping back to camp.

The shrub trembles in the wind.

Someone said “dragon.”

Poppy murmurs the word, just to see how it rolls off her tongue. Dragon.

It sounded right. So very right!

Dragon!

She likes Tonka. Tonka is a great puppy, but kind of annoying when she rips out her bows. Tonka could always be just a pet…or a sidekick! She’d even get her a hat! Tonka would still have uses.

Imagine a dragon. Who wouldn’t notice a dragon!
A Halfling and a dragon…the team would be invincible! We’d end the war!

It’s flying around enemy lines, but I’m sure it could be convinced if someone just spoke to it. Or maybe it’s under a magic spell? Surely the dragon couldn’t resist the most famous of Halflings who saved the Elven race from demise?

Poppy snaps out of it and shakes her head a bit. She strains her eyes to see if she can glimpse a wing, a snout, or perhaps even fire on the horizon, but all she sees are tendrils of smoke from goblin fires.

It just has to be a dragon, she whispers. A dragon. Why not get the dragon a hat too?