The Elegant Eight escorted the dwarf on with great zeal. They marched about, making sure each flank was surrounded. Uta was not quite so rigid, but no one else was as loose as he due to the fact they were now representing Rivea proper to the dwarf.

When they had taken camp they had made sure the dwarf did not need to take watch, apologising for Ares was still injured, but Ares mostly did it so that Ezak wouldn’t pass out for he was still quite young and the heat of the day had taken much out of him, as though he had been a towel that had been wrung about.

They had made some food for the evening and Torak began to share some stories of his youth when he first became a Horn.

“She was a beautiful woman, I could have never imagined anyone to be more beautiful,” he said. “Although she was a lionfolk, so we could not be together. We had met in combat a few times and I had almost lost my horns to her. She assaulted me in such a way that I thought I was going to die, but I was glad to see her each time.”

“A young Torak in love? I’m surprised to hear it.” Ares chuckled as he threw a look to Torak, catching his eye.

“Is it so surprising to hear?” Torak asked as he raised a brow.

“I just expected you to be that kind of person.”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know… stoic, strong, that kind of thing.”

“I am stoic enough, if you mean still and not quite so passionate outwardly, but I was a different man when I was that young.”

“What of your sons? They aren’t lionfolk, how did you manage to finally settle?”

“I did not settle. There is often a competition for such things.”

Ares furrowed his brows in confusion at the words. “A competition for what?”

“My seed.”

Ares coughed, glad he had not been drinking his soup. “Excuse me?”

“It is the way of the Horn, I am sure it is done in the other tribes.” Torak looked to Uta who nodded his head to confirm such a thing.

“It is the responsibility of the strong to make sure their seed continues their line, for a great warrior from the father will ensure a great warrior with the son, and the same is such for women too.”

Ares raised his brows in surprise. “I didn’t know that happened. Is that the same with every child and every Horn?”

“It is so,” Torak said as he sipped on his soup.

“Oh…” Ares said awkwardly, trying to figure out just exactly what they had meant. “So you aren’t married to anyone? Are all the children from the same woman, or are they often different? And what of the female Horns and their men?”

“There are competitions, though if there is already a child, then there is no need to continue entering.”

“Oh…” Ares wondered if Lana had a child. She was rather young still, about his age, but she had never mentioned a child or anything of the sort. He didn’t really mind either way, he was just wondering.

“We have our customs,” Torak said. “You have seen quite a number of them.”

Ares recalled the amount of times the festivities had turned into people becoming a mass of meat and sweat.

“What about with dwarves? Is it the same way?” Ares asked as he threw a look towards the dwarf who was on the fourth bowl of soup, denying once each time he was offered, but the second time he was offered he would accept.

“You’re speaking of me and my wife?”

“You’re married then?”

“Any good dwarf is!” the dwarf exclaimed as he placed down the bowl and then nodded. “I am married to my Azaba, she is the sweetest woman, and she knows how to smith a good blade too.” He grinned with great pride.

“Azaba is a great name,” Ares said as he paused for a long moment.

“It is,” the dwarf said. “You can call me Ozondo.”

Ares nodded before the dwarf continued on.

“Azaba and I met when I was in the service,” he said. “I met with a black beast, large and powerful, it was bigger than your buffalofolk there, and it was tearing into the goats our people keep. Azaba was there charging right in, her hair in the wind, she wasn’t wearing a helmet because she had grabbed her sword and rushed out when she first saw the black beast, and she came on it. She was an animal in her own right. When I was done admiring her, I could only for a little because the black beast then turned to face her and they were assaulting one another so I could not see her, I charged right in.”

“That sounds romantic,” Ares said with a small smirk on his face, taking a long sip of his soup.

“It was, the black blood of the creature had sprayed the entire field and ourselves. I went through the process of courting her for twenty years, it’s only recently the latest generation have changed that to ten years, no respect for our traditions.”

Ares smiled at the thought. That was how it always worked, the next generation would be far more liberal than the generation that came before it, pushing passed traditions and such in order to see what was beyond the frontier.

“How long have you and your wife been married?” Ares asked.

“It’s coming on to almost a century now,” Ozondo said with a smile.

“Oh? That’s a long while. I’ve only been married for a month.”

Ozondo’s eyes grew wide as he stared at Ares. “A month?”

“Well, less than that I think.” Ares chuckled.

“Why are you out here? Shouldn’t you be with your wife?”

“Well being a King means I have a duty to my people as well, so I have some business and matters that need attending.”

“What sort of matters?”

“We were just at war with a few of the tribes, Uta here and his folk had caused a bit of an issue with mine, but it was mostly the rhinofolk. So I’m out here trying to find people that would be willing to join us before we drive the rest away from the land.”

“You’re going to drive away everyone from the land?”

“Probably,” Ares said as he saw Torak’s glare and then he furrowed his brow in confusion before the alarm set in himself, “well, I am not focused on the dwarves. You live deep in the mountains and such, right?”

“That’s right,” the dwarf said with narrowed eyes.

“Then that’s no business of ours, in fact I’d rather be quite close with the dwarves, I am an admirer of the good earthly-born dwarves.”

Ozondo nodded his head and sat up with a great pride. “That’s right, good earthly-born we are.”

“Is…” Ares began and then paused. “Is mithril something that dwarves typically work on?”

“Mythral? Mythral is the work of elves, their smithing and their songs, that’s what makes mythral glow. We dwarves know how to work it, but elves know how to bring out the magic. They say it’s an ore, but it’s no earthly ore of the dwarves.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Ares thought on it for a moment. “That’s what I assumed, but I just wanted to make sure. I had a mithril blade not long ago, the one that I gave to Peros.”

“Oh!” Ozondo exclaimed. “That was the blade you had spoken of?”

“That’s the one.”

“Peros has laid claim to a number of blades, I had not expected you had that blade!” Ozondo’s eyes gleamed with such greed. “What do you know of it?”

“It helped me with sword play and then held whatever properties of mithril you would expect of it, I didn’t have it for long so I did not manage to learn it’s secrets.”

“Helped you with sword play? It increased your skill with it?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

The dwarf nodded as though he understood what Ares was talking about. “The blade is rumoured to hold a great many properties, but it is that property which is the greatest.”

Ares nodded. “When I no longer wielded it, it was quit an effort to fight without it.”

“Amazing…”

“I was hoping, perhaps, to make a deal with some dwarves about making a blade or some armour to rival it, but I suppose I should wait until I have made a good impression.” Ares winked at the dwarf, who smiled in return.

“I understand,” the dwarf said with a wide smile. “I will keep that in mind, King Ares.”

“I’m glad.”

With that everyone went to bed, with stories on their mind and food in their stomach.