Logan's POV
The clang of hammers fades behind us as we follow the triplets deeper into the mountain.
Dwarves mill about, their chatter reaching my ears. Endless conversations with many being gossip about… me.
Their drivel reminds me that I hate travelling. That I hate the crowds and the motions and the ever present whispers. As above in the afterlife, so below on Earth, voices follow me.
"Isn't that a god?"
"Never seen a god look like that."
"Check out the wolves. That ain't no god. He's just some wolf-kin."
"One of the moon goddess's own?"
"Aye. What do her dogs want here?"
The air grows thicker the further we go in. Smoky, not just from the forges, but from the mountains own natural gasses. It's a little too hot to breathe comfortably here. Sparks float down like lazy fireflies, settling on stone that seems to drink the light instead of reflect it.
