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Therin, his wheelbarrow turned on the side, stone tumbled out of it, examined the wheel and sighed. It had cracked clean in two during the scuffle of dwarves rushing to regain control of their own wheelbarrows, and Therin grumbled inwardly. A few of his toes were also causing him pain, due to the amounts of stone falling out of the wheelbarrows, and Therin could see a few other dwarves nursing various wounds and bruises, their dignity lessened.
He turned his full attention to the wheel in front of him, deciding it couldn't take that long for him to fix it. For the next half hour, he worked with it, just the dull murmur of the dwarves around him. Finally, the wheel fixed, he looked up to see that most of the dwarves were also well on the way with their own wheelbarrows, and with some surprise to see that Barzun was leaning against one of the ruined stone walls, not barking orders. A pleasant change, Therin felt, proceeding to reload his wheelbarrow with all the fallen pieces of stone.
This task finished, he wandered round the rest of the ruins, staring once more at the crumbling stone walls, pieces of moss growing out of the cracks, and barely any memory of the people who had once lived there. A sad sign of the times, mused Therin, that in such an age as this, such beauty was so forgotten.
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