Hardly touched by the heat of the early-morning sun was the short, sparse grass that covered the ridge. Icicles shaded from the light of the new-born day nonetheless dripped water upon the rocks far below. At the bottom rested a small pile of gathered brush burning slowly. A long, thick branch pushed the broken wood and other natural fuel deeper into the fire, the dwarf holding it trying to make the fire bigger as his other hand held a fry pan over the flames. Bacon sizzled in the pan as he made his breakfast, his crimson beard tucked away into his belt so as to avoid being singed. It was the second morning of the aging dwarf's hunting trip; yesterday had been surprisingly unfruitful, dismaying the dwarf. Hopefully he would do better today. A fisherman at a river near the Sculpture Vale had supposedly sighted a gathering of caribou in this area just a few days earlier.

The light breeze ruffling Arkral's long hair from time to time carried to him now a strange scent: the scent of another hunter. Looking above him, he saw what his nose had confirmed. An arctic wolf stared down at him from the snow-covered ridge above with a piercing gaze, a warning in its eyes to stay away despite the wolf's nonchalant demeanor. The two watched each other for a bit, but finally the wolf dipped out of sight and headed off in another direction. It would not be returning, the dwarf knew. His eyes lowered to rest upon his bacon once more. He had some salt pork with him, but this was his only bacon. Thankfully, he'd stocked up before leaving; he had enough food to last him a week, so he wasn't worried.

The meat was just about done, so he set the stick aside and pulled the pan from the fire. He'd let it set for a moment or two before he dug in. It seemed he was not the only hunter in this area today; if that wolf was here, the caribou must be as well. The fisherman had not lied. Arkral only hoped that he got to the herd before the wolf; he'd not take 'em all, but he needed enough meat to last him for a while. Most herds of caribou were fairly large, so this wasn't typically a problem; if the wolf was alone, it still wouldn't be a problem. But the stark-white fur of the animal had displayed traces of blood; the wolf had fed recently. It might not hunt again soon, or it might; it all depended on whether it was alone or in a pack. Only time and another chance encounter would tell that, though. For now, the dwarf was content to enjoy his breakfast. His hammer lay before him on the ground, ready to be swung at a moment's notice should he encounter an animal or a being of ill intent; he was expecting neither, but he was always prepared.

Evidence of that lay in the thick, dark-brown fur of the cloak draped about the dwarf's broad shoulders. It complemented the coat he already wore, adding insulation against the oppressive cold of the mountains that surrounded him. Something like a stair rested behind him; it was against this that Arkral rested his back as he finally picked up his hammer and leaned against the rock wall beside him. He gazed first at the massive stalagmites bordering the increasingly narrow path before him as he ate, pondering what a human might do were he faced with just a few inches of ground upon which to step and a host of goblins behind him. Then he gazed over to the jagged precipice that stared out over the mountains to the south. It would be quite a drop - almost four miles before a human hit the ground. The dwarves, though - they had the upper hand, and then some. They'd've just plowed right through the goblins an' shoved them over the edge; that would've been the end of the battle and the story.

The crunch of bacon masked at first the crunch of boots as the dwarf pondered, mostly out of boredom, the many differences between the dwarves and their taller near-cousins. They weren't racially related, but they were close enough to make them similar in abilities, if not in talents or mind. But after the fourth piece of bacon, the fact was that the sound of footsteps behind the dwarf could not be ignored any longer. From his subconscious to the forefront of his mind went the sound; he didn't bother to grab a weapon; he wasn't worried about anything just yet. But he did twist a bit to take a gander at the figure that now made its way toward the dwarf. It was daylight, but the sun's rays had yet to blind him; he thus had a very clear view of his visitor.