After confirming the results from Tarian’s logs, Jarvis waited for the dwarves to return. When the stout warriors returned, the party’s leader instructed most his dwarves to remain while he led Jarvis into the woods. With a brief back and forth, the dwarf agreed to let a handful of Jarvis’s crew to join him. Will the dwarves betray their new allies once they’re deep in the foreboding forest? Or will this expedition intensify their friendship?
While Jarvis dabbed his forehead, the rough bark dug into the small of his back. After resting for a few precious moments, he shoved the damp cloth into his pocket as he hustled through his people and chased down their guide. When he reached the dwarf, Jarvis tugged the stout warrior’s shoulder. “Ferrek, how much further do we have to go?”
Hearty laughter exploded from the guide’s mouth as his head twisted. “We’re closer than the last time you asked. However, if you’re not as hearty as you claimed, we can take another break.”
“No,” Jarvis said between ragged gasps. He pressed his palm against his chest as his head whipped about, absorbing the monotonous flora. “I’ll be fine.”
“Provided you survive,” Ferrek said, clapping Jarvis’s side, “you should add exercise into your busy day.”
As Jarvis’s knees wobbled, he leaned against a nearby tree.
With raucous laughter, Ferrek spun around and continued marching through the forest.
As the dwarf wove through the trunks, Jarvis plucked his canteen from his belt and took several swigs. Once the water tumbled down his throat, he wiped his mouth and hustled after the guide. Upon cresting the hill, a stout hand slapped Jarvis’s stomach. “What was that for?”
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