Descending the steep slope beneath the immense cliffs where the branchlet met Ciendil, Saskia finally gave voice to her surprise. “You know, when you told me about the Underneath, I envisioned underground tunnels and halls. This is…wow.”

Her gaze flicked between the darkening sky, the rolling hills, the wide lake, and the even wider city surrounding it. The lake was fed by a serpentine river flowing out of a large tunnel to the west. That must be the Prime Passage. Towers and fortifications lined the riverbank near the mouth of the tunnel, and unlike the ones she’d seen further inside, these had dwarves stationed on and around them. The dwarves weren’t taking any chances that someone might try to sneak through.

Luckily for her, the guards either didn’t know or didn’t care about this smaller tunnel they’d just left.

Many of Torpend’s buildings seemed to have been formed out of solid rock, and having seen what Ruhildi could do, Saskia knew that such a thing was indeed possible. The spires bore a striking resemblance to those of the first elven town she’d encountered after her arrival on this world. Had that town been built by dwarves in ages past, before the current occupants moved in?

Torpend’s most prominent feature was the immense pillar of stone that Ruhildi had called Spindle. It seemed too large to have formed naturally, but on this world, one could never be certain. Either way, the pillar was clearly occupied now. She could make out innumerable pinpricks of flickering lights from windows running up its length.

“What a fair odd notion, Sashki,” said her friend. “There are some folk dwelling in the halls above Spindle, but most of my kin would rather see sunlight from time to time.”

Which just goes to show how little I know about real dwarves, thought Saskia to herself. “I imagine it gets pretty bleak and cold here in winter though,” she said, shivering in the fierce breeze. She glanced up at the immense shadowy form of Ciendil looming overhead. “You wouldn’t get as much sun as the top side of the main branch.”

“True enough,” said Ruhildi. “’Tis ofttimes dark and gloomy, but ’tis our home, and as far from the leaf-ears as we can hope to get.”

“I just hope your people will be a little more tolerant than those donkhole elves,” said Saskia. “I suppose you could pass me off as your pet, like you did with those other dwarves…”

Ruhildi snorted. “You are my pet, Sashki.”

Grinning, Saskia scooped her friend up, hugging her to her chest and smooshing down her unkempt hair. “Who’s the pet now, huh?”

“Put me down, you beast!” said Ruhildi, banging her fists futilely against Saskia’s rock hard abs.

“Aww, who’s the cutest little dwarfy. You are!”

The dwarf’s face turned beet red, and Saskia laughed. It felt so good to be able to monkey about, without feeling like she was probably gonna die any moment now. They were finally home. Well not her home, but at least, maybe, a reprieve?

Finally, Saskia took pity on her friend and lowered her to the ground.

“Alright, you’re not my pet,” admitted the dwarf. “But aye, we may have to keep up the act if anyone sees us.”

Further down the slope, they entered a sparse forest of what looked like white birch trees. It was already getting dark, so they made camp under a large rock, piling branches against it to keep out some of the cold. It was by no means warm or comfortable, but Saskia slept better than she had in weeks.

Over the next two days, they wound their way through the hills, steering clear of any roads, houses or other signs of civilisation they encountered along the way.

The unique day-night cycle of the Underneath took some getting used to. The main difference stemmed from the fact that they only saw daylight in the early-to-mid morning and mid-to-late afternoon, when the sun was low enough to avoid being eclipsed by Ciendil’s vast bulk. There was less light down here than there was topside, but the days were also a bit more regular, because there was only one real branch eclipse per day: the big one.

Each day really had two nights, or darks, as Ruhildi called them. First dark was the traditional night time period, when the sun wandered below the horizon. Second dark began mid-morning, when the sun disappeared behind Ciendil, and lasted until mid-afternoon, when it reappeared on the other side. According to Ruhildi, many dwarves had adapted their sleep cycles around these weird split-days, with two short three-to-four hour sleeps per day.

At Ruhildi’s suggestion, they took to travelling mostly under the cover of darkness. While it meant seeing less sunlight than she would’ve liked, Saskia could see the logic in that decision. These sparse forested hills and snowy grasslands provided much less concealment than the dense lowland forests and swamps up above. They might be spotted from kilometres away if they weren’t careful.

It was early in the first dark of the third day when Ruhildi awoke her with a melancholy expression on her face. “Torpend is but two day’s journey from here.”

“Okay,” said Saskia, blinking away the cobwebs of sleep. “Then let’s get…” As her friend’s frown deepened, she finally twigged. “Oh. You don’t want me to come with you.”

“’Tisn’t safe for you in the city,” said Ruhildi. “Not unless… You’d best wait here. I’ll be back within a fiveday and a half, you have my word. And then we can decide.”

“Decide…?” said Saskia.

“The future.”

“Okay.” Saskia blinked again, and with a slight shiver, she realised it wasn’t just sleep in her eyes. Why did she feel so wretched all of a sudden? She’d been all alone in this hostile world for months. She’d survived horrors her human self had never imagined in her darkest nightmares. She’d become one of those horrors. This would only be a week, and she had little to fear here. Get a grip on yourself, you big baby! she silently chastised herself. Coughing to remove the lump in her throat, she looked her friend in the eye and said, “Be safe, Ruhildi. And thank you. For everything.”

“I’m the one should be thanking you, Sashki, a hundred times over. For saving me. For bringing me home.”

Ruhildi gave her one last pat on the leg, then set off down the hillside, glancing back so often she tripped over a tree root. After she was gone, Saskia just sat there for a long time, feeling empty and lethargic. She just wanted to curl up and sleep the week away.

Maybe I could, she thought idly. Can trolls hibernate?

Probably not. And in any case, there were things she could do to make her wait a less miserable one. She was situated between two huge trees in a little hollow on the side of a ridge. They’d already built a crude bivouac between the bank and the trees, but today she decided her priority was to strengthen it, and keep the worst of the snow melt from dripping down on her while she slept. Because that had sucked.

Before she knew it, the sun had peeked up from the horizon, bathing the trees in a golden glow. Saskia stopped what she was doing and just admired the beauty of her surroundings. She could get used to this. On a whim, she found a smooth, flat rock and sat with it on her lap, scratching out the scene with her claws.

So intent was she on her task that she didn’t notice the little blue marker on her map until it was nearly upon her.

Startled, she whirled about just in time to see tiny feet scurrying behind a bush. Wide eyes stared at her through the leaves, attached to a stout little body, far smaller than Ruhildi or the other dwarves she’d met.

She sat down on the leaf-strewn forest floor, attempting to look as non-threatening as a hulking behemoth of a monster could look.

“Aww, I’m sorry for scaring you,” she called out in Dwarvish. “It’s safe to come out. I don’t eat children—or anyone, really. I’m a nice trow.”

Several long minutes passed before the boy emerged, wide-eyed, from behind the bush, clutching a basketful of small red fruit. If he were human, she’d have guessed he was about six years old, but all bets were off with dwarf children. He stood there gawking at her, caught in an apparent conflict between caution and curiosity.

Eventually, the latter won over. He stepped forward, holding out his basket at arms length. “Want a tomapple?”

Saskia beamed at him. “Don’t mind if I do.” She plucked one of the fruit from his basket, and his eyes grew wider still as he caught sight of her long claws.

She bit into the fruit with relish. “Mmm…this is good! Thank you!”

He watched her in obvious fascination as she ate. “Are you really a trow?” he asked.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “No, not really. But don’t tell anyone. It’ll be our secret.”

“Och,” he said. His forehead scrunched up comically as he pondered her words. “What are you then?”

Now it was her turn to frown. “I wish I knew. All I know is what I’m not. I’m not a trow. And I’m not…” Human. She changed the subject. “What’s your name, kid? And where are your parents?”

“I’m Thorric. My pap’s down the hill a-ways.” He pointed.

“Well Thorric, is your dad okay with you just…wandering off and chatting up huge scary monsters?”

“You’re not scary,” said Thorric. “You’re nice.”

“So I’ve been told.” She sighed. “Thanks so much for the…tomapple, was it? Now I think you should get back to your dad, before he comes looking…”

He looked away, sniffing quietly, and ran his hand across his face. It came away dripping with snot and tears.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, alarmed by this turn of events.

He didn’t reply, so she just sat beside him, murmuring quiet words of sympathy while he cried his eyes out. Saskia resisted the urge to hug the child because…monster. She was beginning to get a bad feeling about this. Maybe the kid’s father beat him or something.

Finally Thorric sucked in a breath and blurted, “Want to see the floofies?”

She blinked at him for a moment, choking back a laugh. “The whats?”

“The floofies.”

“And just where are these ‘floofies?’”

“Not far. Come, I’ll show you.” He jumped to his feet, wiping away the last of his tears.

“Alright,” she said. “Let’s go. But afterward, you’re going back to your father, okay?”

Without answering, he stashed his basket of fruit in his little rucksack and dashed off through the trees. She gave an exasperated groan and set off after him.

He led her up toward the summit, before descending into a little nook, where a crystal-clear stream trickled from the mouth of…oooh a cave!

Saskia shivered at her own reaction to the sight of it. What had brought that on? She’d just spent weeks underground. Wasn’t that enough?

Thorric reached up, took her by the finger, and led her inside. The cave provided some shelter from the wind outside, but as they ventured further, it became noticeably cooler again, and the floor grew slippery with ice. Which was a little odd, now she thought about it.

Soon they arrived in a cavern ringed with a pattern of stalagmites and stalactites that reminded her of the teeth of a dragon. The stream forked around an island of solid ice. In the centre of the frozen island lay the carcass of a large beast. What kind of beast, she couldn’t say, because by now it was just frozen blood and jutting bones and red meat.

Skittering across the ice and all over the frigid carcass were a gaggle of familiar fuzzy little creatures with white fur and needle-sharp teeth. In spite of the cold, her heart melted at the sight of them, and her inner nine-year-old gave a squeal of delight.

“It’s the adorribles!” she said with a laugh. “Aren’t they just the cutest little murderlings!”

“Floofies!” said Thorric, splashing across the water toward the tiny fuzzballs.

“Uh…I’m not sure if you should be…”

Her words trailed off as he threw his arms around one of the beasts. The rest of the adorribles looked up from their meal and hopped toward him, letting out crooning, chittering sounds. Thorric shivered, and Saskia could have sworn she saw ice crystals creeping along his arm. He released the critter and stood up, teeth chattering. “C-cold,” he said.

When Saskia drew near, the adorribles backed up, darting behind the stalagmites.

“Are they actually…generating the cold?” she wondered aloud. “Like some kinda ice magic?”

Thorric just blinked up at her, uncomprehending.

Scooping up a handful of meat, she crawled over to one of the tiny creatures. She held out the meat as an offering and waited as the adorrible inched forward, step by step. Rearing up on its hind legs, it sniffed at her fingers. When its little nose brushed her finger, she felt a spike of cold stab through it.

Then the creature reached out and plucked the meat from her hand with its forepaws and darted away.

“Would you believe that,” she breathed. “They are magical creatures.” Her finger still felt a little numb from its touch. She turned back to the child. “Thank you for showing me this, Thorric. These little guys are really cute! But we should leave them be. They’ll turn us into popsicles if we stay too long.”

The boy followed her out into the open air, looking glum.

“It’s time to go back now, child,” she said.

Hesitantly, he asked, “W-would you…come with me?”

“Come with you where? To see your father?”

He nodded.

“I…can’t,” she said. “If he sees me…well, look at me! The grownups of your kind, I don’t think they’d understand…”

If anyone else saw the big scary troll—least of all this kid’s father—it’d be as it had been with the elves all over again. They’d come for her with pitchforks and torches. And arrows. Yeah, there were always arrows.

He began to sniffle again.

“Oh Christmas…” she muttered. “Look, I’ll tell you what. I’ll take you back to your father. But when we get there, I’m staying out of sight. I’ll do this if you promise not to tell him or anyone else about me. Deal?”

In answer, he took hold of her finger and lead her down the slope into the valley below her little campsite. “Pap’s over there,” he whispered.

Saskia looked at where he pointed, and her heart stuttered in her chest. “Oh Thorric, I’m so sorry…”

A dwarf lay with his head propped against a boulder; his eyes staring sightlessly up into the shadows of Ciendil; his skin waxy and crawling with bugs. The boulder was splattered with blood. His blood, presumably, although some of it may have belonged to the carcass of a huge bear-thing that lay beside him with a sword still lodged in its eye.

She was no expert on corpses, but it looked like the dwarf had been dead for a while. No wonder poor Thorric had latched onto the first sapient being he could find—even a monster like her—for solace and protection.

And she’d unknowingly brought him back down here, to the site of…this.

She buried the dwarf where he’d fallen, marking his grave with a cairn. “May he rest in…uh, in the Halls Beyond,” she said, in a clumsy attempt to incorporate Ruhildi’s version of the afterlife into her prayer. Thorric remained silent throughout, and when she was done, he tugged at her finger, gazing up at her with liquid eyes.

Stop looking at me like that! she thought, blinking away the wetness pooling in her own eyes. I’m not your mummy, kid. She didn’t even want kids. Not yet, anyhow. And certainly not here. Maybe if she made it back to Earth, then she’d consider it…

But she couldn’t very well leave this child to fend for himself. She needed to get him home to his own mother.

After much coaxing, he told her he’d been living alone with his father in a small village in the woods. So no mother, then. There must be other villagers who could take him in though.

“Okay kid,” she said. “Let’s take you home.”

It was a risk. The pitchfork-and-torch scenario was ever present in her mind. But right now, this young boy’s needs superseded her own. The sooner she could get him to safety, the better.

There were two villages marked on her minimap. The closest would be a day’s walk at Thorric’s pace. But she could move much faster than that.

She put him in the back harness she’d used to carry Ruhildi—after making some adjustments for his smaller size. “Hold on tight!” she said, and took off.

He whooped so loudly and for so long, she was worried he’d draw predators for miles around. It was good that he could find joy though, after what he’d just gone through. The best thing she could do right now was keep him distracted. So as she bounded between the trees, she told him stories of Earth. He listened with rapt attention, even though he probably didn’t understand a quarter of what she was talking about.

All too soon, they came upon a wide riverside glade containing the village marked on her map. “Is this your home?” she asked. When he nodded, she let out a sigh of relief. The next closest village was hours away, even for her.

But her relief turned to alarm when a shout rang out from the village, and a horn sounded. They’d spotted her through the trees.

Quickly, she placed Thorric on the ground. “This is where we part, Thorric. Your people will take care of you, but they…wouldn’t look kindly on me.”

He looked up at her sadly. “Do you really have to go? I’ll tell them—”

Saskia gave a wry chuckle. Among the villagers charging across the field toward her, some held pitchforks—yeah, actual pitchforks. “I don’t think they’re in a mood to listen. Goodbye, sweet child. Thank you for treating me like a person.”

“But you are a…”

Without waiting to hear him finish, she turned and ran. The kid would be okay. It was her own wellbeing she should be concerned about now. The dwarves had seen her, and she had a feeling she hadn’t seen the last of them.

Arriving back at her little shelter on the ridgetop, Saskia settled in for the long, boring wait for Ruhildi’s return. Her newly-strengthened bivouac was comfy enough, and there was no shortage of food, thanks to the herd of four-horned deer-things that roamed the woods. Still, there were few things she liked doing less than waiting.

Each day she visited the adorribles’ cave for a dose of cuteness. The little furballs became less wary of her each time, and by the third day, she had a dozen of them eating out of her hand—and came away nursing a block of ice.

What was up with these creatures? And how had Thorric befriended them? She’d probably never know.

The next day, she awoke to the sound of boots treading in the snow outside her little shelter. Pulling aside the cover of branches and leaves, she found herself staring into a pair of familiar eyes, already brimming with tears.

“I’m sorry!” blubbered Thorric. “They made me—”

Rough hands pulled the boy away, and in his place stood a row of dour, grizzled dwarves.

They didn’t have pitchforks and torches. No, these dwarves wore a motley assortment of leather and chain armour, and came bristling with swords, spears, spiked shields and metal crossbows.

The crossbows fired.

Oh not again.

Saskia burst out of the shelter in an explosion of branches, leaves and dirt. One of the crossbow bolts, she snatched out of the air. Several more pinged harmlessly off the back of the little hollow. The last one slammed into her thigh like a dart against a dart board. It only sunk a little way in, but that was enough to set her nerves afire.

“Don’t hurt her!” shouted Thorric, struggling to wriggle out of the arms of the dwarf woman who held him.

These didn’t look like the villagers who had chased her. They were too well-equipped. Had they abducted the boy—forced him to lead them to her?

No time to find the answers to those questions. She had to act. Flee—or fight.

Saskia charged forward, backhanding a dwarf with each hand as they attempted—unsuccessfully—to poke holes in her with swords and spears.

She shoved the dwarf woman down onto the snow, tearing Thorric free from her grasp. “Are you okay?” she asked, holding the boy in the crook of her arm. “Did they hurt you?”

“No, but—”

“Good,” she said, backing away slowly from the dwarves. “Stay with them or come with me. Decide!”

“With you!” he said without hesitation.

“Okay. Ruhildi will know what to do…” Lifting Mjölnir in her other hand, Saskia glared at the dwarves. “We’re leaving. Anyone wants to try to stop me, they can—”

Another crossbow bolt came hurtling toward her from the trees. She leapt aside, then brought her hammer down, sending an explosion of debris up into the air. The ground trembled, and one of the dwarves fell over backward, staring up at her with wide eyes.

“Keep firing, you shites!” bellowed the dwarf woman. There was a predatory gleam in her eyes as she leapt to her feet with sword drawn. “Do you ken what we have here? This here’s our biggest catch since the screggan nest! Worth twice its weight in silver for the fighting pit, or I’m a tree-humping greenhand!”

Saskia backed away, bracing herself to evade another volley, only to realise that something was amiss. Her movements were becoming sluggish. The leg that had been struck felt like lead. She stumbled.

Crossbows twanged. With what seemed like agonising slowness, she turned away, shielding the boy as best she could with her body. Stabs of pain rippled across her back, followed by a spreading numbness.

Tranquillising bolts.

She lurched away from the dwarves, but it felt as if she were climbing a steep slope with an elephant strapped to her back. She fell to her knees.

The third volley fired.