21. Slowly Earning Trust

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I cautiously inspected the interior of this cave, wary of staying in here as there are dangers that hide in the rocks worse than fighting the storm outside with an ongoing Thunder battle... The mountains are well known as a stronghold of goblins and other foul creatures of the dark. I listened attentively to every single stomping step Dwalin took away from us for anything odd. I couldn't really tell with the echo of the cave though...

I watched worriedly as the light of Dwalin's torched faded for a moment, before coming back as Dwalin rounded the corner.

"There's nothing here." Dwalin calls out. The collective sigh from all of us told me just how worn out we all are. I walked in cautiously, watching the area before relaxing my guard a little as nothing happened, the rest of the company piling into the dry cave eagerly.

I stood away from the others, pulling my soaked hair over my shoulder which felt like a boulder pulling back on my head. Why did I let my hair grow out so much? I would cut it here but I do not know what dwells in these caves and I'd rather not leave a scent trail for some dark creature to follow. I pulled the thin knives out of my braid while undoing it, water steadily dripping out of my hair enough to fill a bucket. Once the braids were undone I squeezed my hair to drain the water from it like a rag. I continued to do so till my hair felt a bit less like a giant weight on my neck and back. Then, so no one has to see how this mess dries, I braided my still wet hair, making sure the braid is tight.

Knowing my hair when it gets washed like that, it tends to be even more crazy and curly after it dries. So I made sure the braid is tight and secure as the last thing I need is my hair to be untameable and decide to stick out in all directions like a tangled ball of yarn.

Fairfin climbed out of my jacket as I took it off too, squeezing out the water with my back turned to the dwarves. My shirt is soaked to my body and I know how these dwarves seem to be about treating a lady right, didn't want one of them offering me their jacket just to protect my honor just because my shirt is stuck to my body showing off my curves which all women have.

I rolled my eyes at that, but I didn't doubt the dwarves would do it. Finally, once my jacket was drained like a wet rag of water, I shook it out and threw it back over me, tying off the belt tight to cover my shirt.

Then I sat heavily next to my dropped pack, exhaustion taking over from my lack of a good night's rest the night before. I fought it off, flipping my hands and gritting my teeth. Maybe I should consider gloves for the future, my hands are covered in dry blood and scrapes, a few deeper cuts. Ya, I do believe I need to consider gloves.

The only reason I do not like gloves is they cut off the feel of control over every minute movement of a sword, or a knife. I kept away from gloves because they limited and muted the feel needed to make complex maneuvers in a fight with one's sword. I would rather have my hand injured than wear gloves. Maybe it's just me, but I think I need to consider them now, with the state of my hands as I pulled out sharp bits of rock without flinching.

I dug in my bag, pulling out an old shirt I turned into rags, which is also soaked by the rain. In this case, that's a good thing, the clean rainwater and the cold water are the best things for keeping down swelling and keeping the wounds clean what I can, I luckily found my small jug of alcohol, grimacing at that but I dabbed a bit on the cloth. Taking a calming breath I pressed the cloth to one hand, controlling my reaction to the burn of alcohol, cleaning up the blood and the many scrapes on my hand before doing the same to the other hand, both of them tingling painfully afterwards. Good thing I keep that small jug for cleaning my wounds. I dug deeper in my bag, finding some dry shreds of the same shirt .

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