[Folwren]

The Stonecut Hall was all ablaze with the light of many torches, and a huge, roaring fire in the massive fireplace at the far wall. There were many dwarves in the Hall already, talking and laughing and laughing together. The Stonecut family were spread for and wide about the hall, greeting guests, staying and talking with the better known, and, as in Bror’s case, amusing the little ones who got in the way of the mother’s in the kitchen.

Fori and Tori Ironfoot stood beside him as he explained to a group of seven or eight young dwarves the rules of the race. There was to be no tripping or purposefully getting in the way of another runner unless it was absolutely necessary in order to avoid running into some adult dwarf, they must run to that table over there, touch it, and return. First one back and to touch him was the winner.

They lined up where Bror directed and prepared themselves for a swift take off. Bror stepped back a few paces, paused, and then said slowly and carefully - ‘on your mark....Go!’ and the boys were off.

‘How long do you have to keep them amused?’ Fori asked ask the three of them watched them run.

‘Until dinner is served - which won’t be too long,’ he added with a glance towards the kitchen. They said nothing more. The racers were almost back. Next moment, Bror was practically knocked over by the force of the first boy’s impact and then by two or three more running into him for the mere fun of it. ‘Good work, lads!’ he said, laughing. ‘Who won?’ The proud runner stood out before him and Bror rummaged about in his pockets until he brought out a smooth, rounded and beautiful red stone (otherwise, it was useless) and gave it to him. To the rest he handed out green ones and then sent them off, for dinner had just been called.

Before he could follow them, Tori plucked his sleeve and he turned back around.

‘Let’s race,’ Tori said, indicating his brother as well.

‘Us three?’ Bror asked, looking at the two Ironfoot sons. He was almost small in comparison to them, certainly no match in height. But he used to be fast, when they were all the same size and younger, so after a pause, he agreed upon it. ‘Let’s go to the far end of the hall, though,’ he said. ‘Instead of to where I sent the boys.’

They agreed and the three of them lined up and prepared themselves. On the count of three, they took off. Bror put every ounce of speed and strength into his running. It lasted less than a minute - Tori pulled in the lead, and Fori and Bror pelted along behind him by two paces, neck and neck, and suddenly, Tori stopped. He tripped over his own feet to miss ramming into a dwarf stepping into his path, but it didn’t work, and he ran into him anyway and they both ended up on the floor. Bror and Fori stumbled to a stop a few paces on and then came back in breathless laughter to the heap of dwarves that turned out to be Tori and Skald.

‘Get off me, you great ox,’ Skald said, trying to get up. Tori scrambled off him as quickly as he could and then offered his hand. There was a pause for a moment, but Bror and Fori were laughing so hard already that the fallen and bruised Skald and Tori could not help but join in.

‘Clumsy fool,’ Bror said, clapping Skald on the back, ‘it’s time to eat, don’t you know? What do you mean by getting in the way of honest, hungry people going to the dinner table?’

‘Honest! Not very likely,’ Skald said with a merry twinkle in his eye. ‘I won’t take that from you, little brother.’ They laughed again and without another word, turned and started towards the long, board tables set up.

The meal was long and merry, filled with meat, newly brewed bear, bread and cheeses, and summed up with huge berry pies and cream. Bror was still eating when behind him came the sound of a harp. He turned his head and looked about. The player sat several yards away and his head was bent as though in thought beside the beautiful instrument. His hands moved slowly at first over the strings and the sound he produced sounded half melancholy, but suddenly, he lifted his head, and his eyes were merry. The tune quickened and he played as Bror hoped someday to play, a swift enticing tune. A moment later, a fiddle joined him and from some corner or shadow of the room came another dwarf. He looked at the harpist with a smile and shining eyes and they played together. The dwarves on the benches move in their seats by the lively music, and before long, some of them couldn’t help themselves, but bound suddenly to their feet and went out towards the middle of the open floor.

So the dancing started. The dwarves got up one after another. The more that came, the more room was made, and the intricate figures and circles were formed, weaving in and out. Bror sat with shining eyes, watching. He had never danced much, for as a child he had rather sit and listen to the music and watch the dancing than do it himself. Someday he intended to be one of the ones playing for the dancers. He thought of that now and his eyes flicked to the musicians. Two more dwarves had joined the original players and another was approaching with his instrument. Bror smiled and leaned back against the table and took another buttered roll in his hand.