[Koobdooga]

‘No harsh words here, Master Fordogrim,’ said Ibun. ‘Seeing as how you’re so generous with your fine brew . . .’ He raised the mug that had been thrust upon him and took a long pull on the fresh and foaming beer. With an economy of motion he sucked the skiff of foam that rimed the edges of his mustache into his waiting mouth. ‘Yes . . . very fine brew, a right treasure! So much so, that I am carried away by its essence.’

A rumble began deep in his chest, and what sounded at first to be a hive of angry bees droning grew into a song:

So my friends, Mahal be with you,
And watch o’er you until
We can a' meet here together,
And our mugs we then refill.
We'll drink a health t’ absent friends
And make the beer and whisky flow,

So button up and aye be cheery
Take a dram afore ye go.
Button up and aye be cheery,
Drink a pint afore ye go.

He raised his mug again, and finding it empty looked round for another. Ibun chuckled as he grasped the handle of a full one a friendly hand had passed him. ‘The sort of treasure in fact that need be shared and not horded. I’ll drink my fill of your good beer, if you will; my belly will be all the cask I’ll need. Let one of the others take the barreled prize.’

Ibun nodded toward Robin and Rowan, and stepped back beside Frór. ‘If they argue long over this,’ he said in a low voice to his friend, ‘we Dwarves will have drunk the casks dry anyway. ‘Twill all be moot!’ He cast an interested eye back on the proceedings and accepted another refill.