Tathfheithleann mused over the boy, a mix of concern and mild frustration on her features. He explained that he felt remorse for the Dryads dumping him on her, and that he had little money. Strange for a lord, the Halfling thought.
"Look, don't worry about money, yeah? There's plenty o' work to be done in the village," the woman said reassuringly. Or at least, that was the intention. "C'mon, I know a guy with a spare room."
The little mage brushed past Dehzrehn and went up the stairs and through her storefront.
"You can stay with him until I get an extra room built for you," she called over her shoulder.
The village was abuzz with rumor and gossip; word traveled fast after all. Tathfheithleann made her way down to the beach and found a quaint, cozy-looking beachfront cottage. Or at least, that's what it would be if it wasn't surrounded by fish and half-finished boat hulls. A Dwarf, brawny and stocky even for one of his own kind, was hard at work carefully cutting two pieces of a hull to join together. Fishing boats needed little iron or nails, luckily. Old-fashioned carpentry would do.
"Arngrim!" barked Tathfheithleann. "Arngrim!"
The Dwarf nearly struck himself with a carpenter's hammer; but experience taught him better than to take a swing when looking away from his work.
"Hah!? That little Honey's voice!?" he roared.
"Aye, and you're still deaf as a stone!" Tathfheithleann roared back.
The Dwarf laughed and lumbered over to the Halfling and heaved her up in a warm, but surprisingly delicate hug as not to crush the poor thing with his might. He set her down, but stopped his pleasantries to size up Dehzrehn with an appraising eye.
"Hrrrm... Who's the skinny kid?" Arngrim rumbled thoughtfully.
"It's a-... Long story. I'll tell you later," Tathfheithleann said wearily. "Can he use your spare room? I'll pay the cost."
"Cost? Girl, you've pulled me out of a bind more times than I can readily count! O' course the lad can shack up here!" Arngrim bellowed. "Just as long as he doesn't mind my racket!"
The Dwarf turned and trundled up to Dezrehn in heavy, plodding steps. He offered a brawny, thick arm and calloused hand to trade grips with the young man.
"Name's Arngrim, lad! But most everyone 'round here calls me Uncle Fishbeard," he laughed. "What's your name?"
