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Gortek lay on the grass of their common campsite, letting the sun shine down on him with it's pleasant warmth. His pipe was clutched between his teeth, and a stream of perfect smoke ring's rose to the breezeless morning air.
"So Gortek, what House or Mansion of Dwarves are you from?"
Gortek turned his head slightly, fixing his one good eye on the man, Aras. Despite his apparent and undenied madness he was far from stupid, and he caught a faint note of distrust in the rangers voice.
"From the Iron Hills, lad." He could not quite keep some amount of surliness from creeping into his voice. The man's lack of trust angered him. He had met distrust many times on his travel's, at times directed towards his honor and at others at his skill's. There was nothing he hated quite so much as not being trusted.
He tapped the ashes from his pipe and got up, resolving to go for a walk or to fish until his temper cooled.
"I'll see if the fish round 'ere is easy."
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