Dwarven Aid

Caleb stopped at the closest tree to check his weapons. Once done, he reoriented and scanned for the faint trail left by his team’s last hunt. The landscape offered no guidance. Everything looked the same. He sighed, holstered his sidearm, and lifted his rifle before continuing. A fine mist hung heavy with the scent of moss and earth, obscuring his view.

Even the birds had stopped calling, leaving only the soft crunch of Caleb’s boots to mark the passage of time. The silence pressed against his ears like a warning. He rubbed his eyes and forced himself to keep moving. Without the dwarves’ help, the settlement would fail, and his search had turned up nothing. He could almost hear their gregarious laughter echoing beneath phantom cries and the imagined groan of the settlement.

The woods felt heavier with each step, like they resented his presence. As he stumbled forward, Caleb paused and yawned. A few hours of sleep could make all the difference between success and failure. And of course, when he made that decision, he caught sight of some tracks. With a groan, he pushed his fatigue aside and started following them.

He tried to stay quiet, but his exhaustion betrayed him. With every footfall, the cracking branches and undergrowth grew louder. Still, each step crystallized his purpose. He was searching for the dwarves and pondering what he’d say.

He had only met a handful of them the last time, and Fitik had essentially said don’t look for us, we’ll find you. Despite that, Caleb hoped that the sheer mass of trolls and goblins would inspire these stout warriors to their aid. He rehearsed what to say, trying to strike the right balance between urgency, respect, and desperation. The wrong words could turn allies into strangers again. Could the sheer size of the horde entice them? Do they care about our lives? Would they care about anything at all?

After a rough hour, the trail deepened, but not in the way he’d hoped. Everything was getting older and leading him in a large circle. Exhaustion clawed at his thoughts, and his shoulders sagged. Muttering a curse, he dug out two capsules, swallowed them dry, and grimaced at their burning coppery bitterness. Sleep would have to wait. After pocketing the bottle, he caught sight of the hidden motion.

Caleb raised his rifle, scanning the trees. Small and obscure shapes darted between the trunks. Despite the motion, there was nothing more than the forest’s din. With no sound, the shapes swirled about him. The precision unsettled him more than chaos would have. He froze, but relief flooded him when Fitik stepped forward. He swallowed the nervous lump that formed in his throat and lowered his rifle. He met Fitik’s gaze and exhaled, his eyes widening as his shoulders slumped when he isolated the familiar face. “Fitik, you don’t know how glad I am to see you.”

Fitik grasped Caleb’s forearm, shaking his head. “What do you want—“

All of Caleb’s preparations flooded out of him as his back straightened. “We need your help to survive.”