“Right let’s get one thing straight,” said Tumbor his cheeks flushed red, his fists clenched and trembling by his side. “Will you stop with the head slapping. I do what I do, and say what I say. This is the way of all dwarves, and no amount of clipping my ear is going to change that.”
“A little more consideration might go a long way, especially towards others,” suggested Yulien softly. “You’re not a bad man Tumbor, just at times a little headstrong.”
Seeing how emotionally charged the dwarf had gotten himself, both Jax and Rohlen promised to refrain from clipping the dwarf, on the proviso he kept the thoughts and emotions of others in mind.
With the air cleared once again, and Tumbor’s temper back under control, the four made their way on the last short stretch towards Wiver. So as to appease the dwarf further, Jax shared some of the meat supplies bought in Droxburg. The dwarf always appeared to be at his most happiest when eating.
A wooden signpost located at a junction in the road pointed the way. Ahead was Blucester, with Droxburg back the way they’d been travelling. It was the junction south that would take them to Wiver, the trees of the woodland starting to appear on the horizon and the distant rumble of the River Wiv offered a backdrop to the usual sounds.
Somebody had scrawled the word ‘HELL’ in black paint over Wiver on the signpost, either as a rebellious act, or a true reflective thought on the plight or the hamlet. The closer they got, the more the latter seemed most likely.
Dominating the cluster of small wooden buildings, and flanking the river, stood the lumber mill. Silent and in need of some repair, the large rusty blade looked as though it hadn’t been used in some years.