Kryger watched as Krogi’s remaining dwarves bore away their fallen comrades. It was a solemn sight, this procession of mighty warriors carrying their dead. 15 dwarves had fallen, and Kryger felt every loss keenly. He had gotten to know them, and it hurt that he felt like he could have done better. Kryger wasn’t allowed to watch the burial, once the dwarves were brought underground, they would begin the long journey to the Dwarven Mountains, where they would be laid. Only 35 dwarves were left. Tradition was that a force equal to half the fallen would bring them to the mountains, and the rest of the force would have revenge. The goblins had not been defeated, but forced to retreat back across the Falith.
Soon, things began to come out of the Jorgodi. Huge cave trolls. There were about thirty. Kryger could see them march, grasping heavy spears. He wondered what else was holed up in that mountain. 
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   Frogi cursed. He had been battered against the stone wall. Somehow, Vanyen had thrown an axe and detonated the paustone mid-air. His shield had protected him, but she was not dead. He ran toward her. He pulled her helmet off. Her face was covered with black dust where the helmet hadn’t protected her. Suddenly, she coughed, and blinked. She registered his face and started, grabbing North which was right next to her. She tried to swing it weakly at him, but Frogi held her hand back.
   “Is he here?” she whispered.
   “No one’s here except me. You’re safe.”
   He didn’t know why he was saying that. He had been told to chase down the traitor. Come to think of it, that didn’t necessarily mean kill her.
   “He’s everywhere,” rasped Vanyen.
   “Who?”
   “He’s always there. Around every corner. I can’t kill him. The song!” Her eyes grew and seemed to lighten. “The song! My grave! It’s the mountain!”