With their wounds slowing them down, late spring had turned into early summer by the time they finally reached their destination. Not that it mattered much, since they had gone so far north a hint of chill still lingered in the air despite the season. Both Ulrik and Hood where rather subdued, with Hood busy pondering their situation and Ulrik still troubled by his injuries. In contrast, Lumpy was positively giddy. These northern summers were exactly what he was bred to enjoy, after all, and it had been over two weeks since he was last dragged into something dangerous. As such, it was Lumpy’s whinny of recognition that broke Hood out of her musings long enough to recognize the strange hill ahead of them. “Ulrik, we’re here.” Ulrik looked up with a confused frown. The thing in front of them looked like just another small, roundish hillock, much like the ones that had been dotting the landscape for the past few days… Except this one had a wide stone chimney sticking out of the top, thick grey smoke billowing forth from it and rising up into the sky. As Hood led him around the peculiar mound he spotted a door set into the hill itself, although the thing was barely over four feet tall. As he looked incredulously at the structure, Hood took hold of the heavy iron doorknocker and slammed it down a few times, the sound echoing across the landscape. After a few minutes of wait, the sound of deep, guttural grumbling and the stomping of small but heavy boots could be heard from within. Finally there was a bunch of clicking and scraping noises from the door as locks where unlocked, latches undone and bars slid away. When the door opened, Ulrik took a step back in surprise. The man on the other side was at least two full inches shorter than Hood, but where Hood looked like a young child, this creature looked like a full-grown man who had been squashed down to half height. His shoulders were at least as broad as Ulrik’s own, his arms bulged with thick muscles and his skin was weathered and worn. He was clad from top to toe in leather and mail, and between his bushy grey beard and his unkempt hair, the only features Ulrik could really make out were his harsh blue eyes. “A dwarf?” He exclaimed, the shock evident in his voice. “I thought all the dwarves left human lands decades ago.” “They did.” The man replied with a sly grin. “What of it?” Hood smiled faintly as she shook her head at the two of them. “Brynjar isn’t a dwarf. He’s just very short.” “But… He…” Ulrik motioned vaguely towards him, as if trying to point out everything from his beard to his attire to the hill he lived inside. “People in the villages around here will pay half again as much for a weapon or tool if it’s dwarf-made.” Brynjar explained. “If you could get that much money just by living in a hole, wearing armour all the time and not shaving, you’d do it too.” While Ulrik was busy trying to deal with that logic, Brynjar turned to Hood. “So, what brings you here after all these years?” “I lost something important, and I need you help.” She motioned with her one remaining hand towards the stump of her right arm. Brynjar, only now noticing the damage, took a step back and swore. “Fell’s sweaty loins, girl! What good was making a sword for you if you’re just going to go and get your sword-arm ripped off?” “I do apologize.” Hood replied dryly. “It wasn’t intended as a slight towards your craftsmanship, I promise.” “So, what kind of damn-fool heroics got you in trouble this time?” “Saving my life, actually.” Ulrik interjected. Brynjar looked him up and down disdainfully. “Well there’s a waste of a perfectly good arm.” It should come as no surprise to anyone that Ulrik bristled a bit at that assessment, but what did come as a surprise to everyone involved was that Hood actually growled in response. It was not the surly grumble that is usually described as a growl in humans, but rather the barely suppressed snarl of a predator about to attack. Brynjar paled and raised his hands placatingly. “Sorry, sorry. That was uncalled for. I won’t make comments like that again.” “See that you don’t.” Hood spat, clearly still on edge. “So…” He took a deep breath to calm his nerves. “You said you needed my help.” “I need a new arm.” “You want me to forge a new arm for you?” “Are you saying you can’t do it?” “No, I’m saying it will be very, very expensive.” Hood went back to Lumpy and dug a big, heavy sack from his saddlebags, throwing it at Brynjar with such force it almost bowled him over. The diminutive blacksmith opened the bag and found it full of silver crowns and even the occasional gold piece. With a thoughtful mien he weighed the bag in his hands, listening to the jingle of the coins as he did so. “This is a hefty sum, but it’s not enough.” “That’s not your payment.” Hood retorted. “It’s the raw materials. This is your payment.” She tossed him a small silk pouch and he let out a surprised gasp as he emptied it, revealing a golden brooch with a single perfect ruby the size of a quail’s egg set in its centre. “Are you sure about this, Hood? I mean, this is…” “It’s a piece of the past that I’ve been dragging around for far too long.” Hood interrupted him. “I have the future to consider.” “You’re sure?” “I’m very sure. Now start working on that arm before I decide to beat you with the one I have.” “Fine, fine. No need to get touchy.” He held the door open and motioned for them to get in. “Lumpy can stay outside. There’s plenty of grass. Probably more than he needs, with how fat he’s gotten. But you two should come in.” Hood had no problem getting inside, but Ulrik had to bend almost double to get through the cramped corridor. The main room was sweltering and stank of burning coal and quenching oil, but at least the roof was higher, letting Ulrik move about with only a slight slouch. The room was a mess, with every open surface being strewn with tools, hastily scribbled notes, dirty dishes and half-finished bits of metalworking. The only exception was the forge that took up most of the back wall, which was kept perfectly neat and organized. The walls were covered in racks and shelves full of weapons, tools and armour, and a thick layer of soot covered most of the ceiling. Brynjar turned to his guests with a theatrical bow. “Welcome to the forge, lords and ladies. Better make yourselves at home, because this is going to take a while.”