Dinner will be served soon, but Aztryd has one more chore to finish. She hands Nizl to her new friend, Hjalmarr. Those two had a fine time together this afternoon. "I will be back in a moment," Aztryd says. I just need to get the last load of the heavy woolens that I spread outside to dry."
On her way, she pauses next to the elder, Adelsteinn, and bends down to speak to him privately. "Elder, I am quite concerned about the well. The water level is low, and I think it may be dropping. I don't know whether you have anyone … qualified … to climb down and examine it. But I fear it may be a problem soon."
Adelsteinn tries to refrain from showing his own concern, but thinks it is best to wait for council from Fafnir. "I do not know if anyone is left to check the depth of water in the well. This is clearly a concern to us." Nodding to Aztryd, he then decides to keep this news to himself as to not spread too much panic.
"Thank you," Aztryd says with a small bow. She continues out of the kitchen, down the corridor, relieved to have passed her concern on to someone able to handle it.
Hjalmarr dandles little Nizl on his knee, offering her a bit of bread to munch on. In remarkably short order she has turned the bread quite soggy. Then she reaches for his mug of ale, and Hjalmarr quickly pulls it out of the way. He takes a drink from it and eyes the rest of the dwarves. He wonders if they will start making plans and decisions now, and if Elder Adelsteinn has decided he is in charge.
Fafnir feels the heat of the bubbling stew bathe his face in a mist of hot steam, and pulls back in reflex, even as he stirs to keep the supper from scorching. Two days ago, they had meat aplenty. Now, tonight, he had used the last of the freshly killed game, and tomorrow, it would be back to the meat cellar to see what salted provisions would be available. He grimaces at the thought. Even the lean and stringy cows were missing this afternoon, as was the last patrol. Fafnir starts to hum, a tuneless ditty he once heard in these very kitchens once night, not too terribly long ago.
"Thank you," Aztryd says to the Elder with a small bow. She continues out of the kitchen, down the corridor, relieved to have passed her concern on to someone able to handle it.
Adelsteinn takes a seat in the kitchen, enjoying the smell of the cooking meal and sipping some ale. Drinking helped him think. He looks up as Aztryd departs. Supplies and water were running low, but where could they go? Their neighbours were not wholesome to the dwarves. With a sigh he takes another drink. He will have to make a decision soon, but wants to talk with Fafnir first.
Grabbing a bit of flour sack which serves as a kitchen towel, Fafnir leans down and pulls the pan of hot, fresh bread from the oven, the tops a little too brown, but serviceable. He had cut the finer flour with coarse ground to make it all go further and mixed it with a pasty concoction of nuts which he had asked yesterday foragers to provide. The nuts were far from choice, barely edible, but it stretched their staples out, and even with their great stores of grain, flour sugar, and roots, it was in his nature conserve, not squander. He grabs a hot loaf, breaks it apart, and pulls a wad of the center to his mouth, tucking it in as he takes the ladle and spoons a sample into a wooden bowl. There was his greatest concern. Not the stew, but the water that went into it. Turning to the Elder, Fafnir calls out in a light, easy tone. "Elder, would you come and sample the stew. I think perhaps a seasoning is missing, but I cannot, for the hammer of the Smith, figure out what it may be."
Adelsteinn turns to Fafnir when he is called and rises. He goes to his side at the stew and looks inside. He could tell in his voice there was more to this gesture than tasting the stew. However, he takes the spoon from the pot and stirs the stew.
Hjalmarr's stomach grumbles at the aroma of the stew. Aztryd has been doing the hard work today, but despite having only carried a few loads of dry washing he feels exhausted. It could have something to do with the little magpie, as her mother calls her; Hjalmarr had forgotten how much energy little ones had. So he lets Nizl chew her bread (and his fingers) and hopes the stew will be ready at the soonest possible moment.
Fafnir turns his body sideways, the aroma of the stew causing his mouth to water, and he watches the elder sample the stew. Leaning in, he locks his gaze upon the face of the brewer and says softly, "I think you need to know, Elder, but when I pull water for our meals, and for Eilif as she helps with the more seriously wounded, I have noticed I have to lower the bucket lower and lower. I don't want to worry the others, but we are losing our clean water supply."
The evening is clear, with a few bright stars beginning to show in the deepening blue of the sky. Aztryd pauses to inhale the scent of pine on the fresh breeze, a welcome change from the smoke and steam of the kitchen. A white shape is waiting just beyond the gate. An animal? No, a large bird, a swan. "Shoo," Aztryd says to it with some concern. "These fellows might try to eat you." The swan looks up at her intently, and stamps its foot. Something on its leg catches a stray gleam of the fading light. "Well, now, swan, will you let me see what you have there?" And tame as tame, the swan allows Aztryd to walk up to it, and examine the message cylinder strapped to its leg. "Are you from King Olwe? I don't know anyone else who uses swans to deliver their messages." She slides a piece of parchment out of the cylinder. "Thank you very much, swan. I wish I could feed you, but you really aren't safe here. Catch yourself some nice fish down at the seashore." Overcome with curiosity, she unfolds it, and holds it up in the fading light. Her eyes grow wide as she reads, and her breath catches in her throat. "The others must see this! Thank you, indeed, swan!" Quickly, she gathers up her clean, dry woolens, and rushes back to the kitchen. Behind her, the swan spreads its wings, and soars back toward the west.
Adelsteinn nods, then samples the stew and speaks quietly. "I have heard about the water before, and water is not the only necessity we are running short on." He nods to the keg of ale nearby. "Our needs will be most dire soon: there are only a few kegs left. I don't know how to break the report of running out of ale." He then speaks louder. "The stew is missing... salt. Yes, adding salt should spice it a bit." he then takes a seat back at the table, looking in his empty mug sadly.
> Next
> Next