War of the Copper Forest

3

"Ginny! Ginny Junior," a lonesome voice cries out, "Ginny?!" Hilda Bronzestone stands at the door of her homestead, calling out for her young son who seemed not to hear it. She dratted the boy, and worried what her husband would think. Willard was getting home this evening from Verrkut, and the family was to dine together for the first time in a week. Hilda had fussed all day about the house and kitchen, she wanted to make it special for her beloved family, she made the boys' favourite tonight, roasted chicken with a loaf and cheese. Ginny wouldn't miss such a feast for the world and all the stars in the sky! Hilda twisted a rag in her hands, used formerly to dry her hands after washing up, but now serving as a victim of her nervous tick.

As she stands there, she spies a Elf in a verdant green cloak mounting the hill Coppress is built on. He looks tired, almost morose, but something gentle about his face holds back an ill-temper that would cause you to walk away from him and hide should you see him. Must be the cheek bones, Hilda determines, and then walks towards the strange Elf.

"Hallo there!" She calls out in rough common, "I do not suppose you've seen a small Child-Dwarf (she says this in Dwarvish for she does not recall the common word) wandering around have you?"

The strange Elf regards her strangely, and in a tongue more fluent with common, "I can't say I have seen any Child-Dwarfs (he attempts to imitate the sound of a word he doesn't know, it comes out strange from his flowing Elvish voice) anywhere recently. In turn may I ask if you have seen the Dwarf named Willard Bronzestone?"

"Oh dear. Well. Yes I am Willard's wife. He is not here presently but will be home soon. Please, come in and wait." Against her better judgement she holds off looking for her child to welcome the unexpected guest. She guides him past the rooms she's immaculately cleaned with her skilled hand and keen sight, that she had planned on leading her husband past before anything. The guest stoops slightly in the stout dwarven home, surprised at its cleanliness, and seats himself at a table. The wafting of roast chicken scent and the aroma of fresh loaves and cheeses is heavy in the room, a welcome smell to any dwarf, but the guest crinkles his nose, catches himself, and then stops. It was not a scent an Elf was accustomed to. He sat patiently and chatted softly in common, patient with the Dwarf woman's rusted command of the tongue.

The sun dipped very low in the sky, and the night came in, when there was a knocking at the door. Hilda rose and answered it, fearing what she knew was there. Even before the door was all the way open she was taken up in Willards arms, planting a longing kiss on her lips before putting her down. He's ecstatic to be home, and she's pleased to see him, but she is nervous to tell him the turn of events. She leads him into the clean house, which does not go unnoticed by Willard, who praises his wife's skilled hands and keen sense, and enters the kitchen, where he sees a stranger. Normally Willard didn't much care for Elves, but on his home-coming day his spirits couldn't be sullied.

"How do you do stranger, I am Willard Bronzestone, mayor of Coppress and President of the Coppress Mining company, to whom do I owe the honour," He greets with vigour and joy, in perfect common built from years of business dealings, and presents his hand stiffly as a good businessman does. Romanov takes it and shakes it firmly.

"A good day to you Mr. Bronzestone, I am Romanov Goodleaf of the Jerkuit, I bear a letter to you from my father, the Grand Elder of the tribe Ivanovich Goodleaf," and he produces the parchment sealed with Elven wax. Willard thanks him courteously and then takes the letter and reads its contents. Romanov allows himself a knowing smile as he sees the Dwarf furrow his brow at the long winded droning his father wrote.

Willard hums and hmms as he reads, and at last looks up. His unassailable cheeriness is gone, and a stubborn but amiable nature sets in.

"Seems all well to me, I'm sure it wouldn't hurt to avoid misunderstandings," he returns the letter, and says to the guest, "would you like to join us for dinner? It smells wonderful."
Romanov considers a second, but declines. It is spring, after all, and while he was hungry, it'd be better form him to find a berry bush in the dark forest rather than partake of dwarven food that churns his stomach at the very scent. He takes his leave and walks off towards home in the darkness.