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Náin's heavy, Dwarven hands tightened into fists as he braced himself against the table, and his typically ruddy face paled behind his beard.
"...eat any man opposed to lord Eodwine... temporary lord... newcomers..."
"Stigend!" he said in low, voice. "Has Lithor sunk so far into his cups? Is he mad? No lord of the Dwarves would tolerate such an attitude!"
Náin grimaced, blinked slowly, and tried to ease the stress out of his fists. He turned to the Eodwiningas around him and said with great deliberation.
"Don't let Lithor turn this into a brawl--whatever he's up to!"
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