Ringo Flinthammer and Frostmaw crept down the slope, the snows of Highmountain giving way to muddy hills with the sting of salt water blowing in the breeze.
“You think I cannot find you, little dwarf?” the rumbling voice called from above them on the ridge. “My people traversed these mountains before the Unseen Path arrived on these shores.”
“And me with nae traps ta lead ye into,” Ringo muttered. “If’n we get out o’ this, bear, remind me ta start preparin’ some o’ those again.”
A chunk of rock near Frostmaw’s head exploded, causing the bear to roar with displeasure.
“The next shot will not miss!” the voice roared from above. “Surrender and tell us what you know of the resistance to the Burning Legion!”
Ringo threw a glance over his shoulder, but saw the sniper nowhere. Laying one hand on Frostmaw’s meaty neck, he hustled the bear down the slope and behind cover.
“What, this is nae the way ye want to spend the Feast of Winter’s Veil, bear?” Ringo grinned, digging through a belt pouch.
It was quiet a moment, and Ringo peeked out repeatedly, waiting for hostilities to begin anew.
“Our victory is assured, little dwarf!” the voice called out finally. Ringo thought he saw movement in some scrub just to the side of the path he’d used to descend. “You and your people should return home to your mountains and resume mining, or whatever it is you weaklings do.”
“Aye, that’s about it,” Ringo called, glancing at the trees and sky overhead. “In between rescuin’ princesses from evil stepmothers.”
Ringo ducked just before the shot caused rock chips to explode from the boulder he and Frostmaw were hiding behind.
“I tire of this game! Surrender and let me take you as my prisoner to Feltotem, or …”