Kryda stood facing the watery entrance to the cave, her unruly auburn hair damp on her shoulders.  Despite the chill, a small fire warmed the cave, and after a long morning of working a heavy pickaxe--and then the usual noontime fun with her working partner, best friend and lover, Fáelán--Kryda’s back was moist with sweat.  As she idly tugged her shirt back over her head, she turned to face Fáelán.  

He was lying on his side next to their small fire, head propped up on one arm, staring adoringly at Kryda.  He pouted playfully when she covered herself, but then smiled up at her fondly.  He was tall and gangly by dwarven standards, but what he lacked in bulk, he made up for in definition. The muscles in his supporting arm rippled invitingly as he shifted towards her, gently stroking her arm with his calloused fingertips. Kryda sighed. This was not going to be easy. Her thick dwarven accent echoed softly as she broke the silence.

“Look, Lan, this is fun and all, but please understand that it cannae be more. Ye know I dunae want that kind of life.”  

Fáelán rolled his eyes at her and sat up. “We’ve been through this a million times. O’ course it’ll be more. The elders are nae so stupid as tha’, they already know about us.  After the ceremony tomorrow, ye won’t have much of a choice anyhow, will ya?” Fáelán teased.  He stood and pulled his own shirt back on, an excited gleam in his eye.  “They’ll have us betrothed on the spot and our hands’ll be tied wit’in the year.”  

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips at his enthusiasm, but Kryda remained silent. Fáelán merely sighed and turned away, snatching his trousers off the rocky ground and irritably tugging them back over his stout legs. “Wish ye didn’t have to be told to take me as yer fáerkéile,” he muttered.

Kryda didn’t quite catch what he said, but she knew him well enough to have a pretty good idea.  A little sadness touched her eyes, but she recovered before he could see.  As she pulled her boots back on and reached for her pick, she shrugged. “It won’t matter by then.”

“What do you mean by that?!” Lan whirled back to face her, looking as if she might as well had struck him. Kryda returned his shocked stare and squared her jaw.  

“I’m leaving.”

“What?!  Leaving where?  The cave?  Ye cannae possibly mean yer leavin’ the village!  Where would ye be goin?  Yer not even an adult yet!”  

At his reaction, Kryda’s resolve wavered.  She softened her voice, but she wasn’t going to back down. “I’m as good as.”

“Then ye could start actin’ it!” he spat, rolling his eyes and then bending down to retrieve his own pickaxe. 

Kryda gritted her teeth at the blow, but continued as if he hadn’t said anything. “Ye said yourself, I’ll be acknowledged tomorrow, but then what?  More o’ this?”  She gestured vaguely at the cave they’d found as kids. It was richer in resources than all of the mines near the village combined, and had made their families quite wealthy. They’d never told anyone where it was, but ever since they’d found it, they both knew they would take up the pick and work in this cave together one day.  

“Would that really be so bad?” Lan pouted.  As he looked back up at her, Kryda could see the pain in his glazed eyes.  “We’ve got more here than anyone in our village has had in generations!  And we have each other.”  

Kryda sighed and turned away. “I know there’s a lot here for me, Lan. I’m not saying there isn’t. But there’s somethin’ out there, too. I can feel it...a grand adventure!”  

There was the excitement Lan had feared he would see. He had always known that Kryda would be hard to settle down with, but he thought by now she’d have gotten over her childish ideas. 

“I dunnae know what it is yet,” Kryda continued, her eyes focused on something distant that Fáelán couldn’t see. “But I know it’s waiting for me. I have to at least try to find it, Lan.  I’ve got to go. I don’t belong here...at least, not yet.” 

Lan broke at last. He lurched forward and wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding her, trying to keep her there, with him. “You belong with me!” he cried, tears spilling from his eyes. 

Kryda turned to face him, fighting back the mist that formed in her own eyes at the sight of his tears. She looked deep into his forest-green eyes, her emerald gaze searching his own, and reached up to touch his face, brushing the tears away gently. She couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat; all she could do was slowly shake her head. 

Lan’s eyes searched hers for a few more moments. Then, breathing heavily, his nostrils flaring, he pulled roughly away from Kryda and flung his pickaxe to the earth. Biting back his tears, he leaped into the underground lake, plunging deep into the water and swimming furiously towards the mouth of the cave. Kryda flinched at the splash; she was sure that if there had been a door, he’d have slammed it. 

Choking back a sob, she sat back down by the little fire, and noticed he’d left his pickaxe. His name was carved into the handle, the first modification any dwarf made to their pickaxe when they were presented with it on the first day of Trials. She traced the letters with her fingers, then clutched the tool to her chest and finally allowed herself to cry. 

-----

They had played together as children, following their parents on some of the shorter mining trips and pretending to find rare, or rather imaginary, gems as they tapped on the stone walls with sticks.  Kryda was always the more adventurous of the pair, wandering off to find new and exciting places to hide and play. She would often come home with strange and beautiful geodes, carelessly flaunting the fact that she had gone well beyond where she should have been.  

Kryda was an insatiable explorer, and after eventually accepting that she completely refused to be confined to the boundaries of the village, her father decided to train her extensively in survival skills. The one thing he couldn’t teach her, though--the secret that no one in her village knew--was how to swim. The dwarves of her village would only wade just deep enough to fill a bucket of water when it was needed, and that was only if there hadn’t been enough rain to keep their storage tanks filled. Kryda had been the first to overcome the deep-seated distaste and fear of open water, but she had learned the hard way.

Kryda and Lan had ventured forth on yet another adventure, Kryda bold as ever and Lan trying to convince her to head back. She had been inching closer to a coveted spot for months, following the flow of a stream that often brought glimmering flecks into the village.  The other miners didn’t think it was worth looking into for such tiny flecks, and the scouts had never found anything worthwhile in that direction, but Kryda knew that the years of tiny flecks sparkling in the stream had to have come from something bigger. Her travels had led her to a huge rocky outcropping, overlooking a lake so wide that the far shores were barely visible from the cliff on which she stood--the same lake that fed the small cove near her village.  

On the day Kryda finally made it to the mouth of the little stream at the base of the outcropping, she was not disappointed. There were indeed some rich resources in those rocks. Delighted, she decided to mine a sample to take back to the village. She had come prepared for such a task, of course--her father had given her his old pickaxe, even though she wasn’t yet officially old enough to choose her trade. Of course, her father hadn’t had much choice in the matter, since Kryda would take it from the rack every chance she got. When he had finally given in and let her take it as her own, she had  immediately marked her name under his with her mother’s sticks of colored beeswax.  

On the top of the ledge, but feeling as if she were on top of the world, Kryda aimed her pickaxe at a chunk of ore so big she would have a hard time carrying it back without a cart. At least, it seemed a substantial piece, in comparison to her own childlike frame.  Lan, cautious as ever, had begged her to come down before the rocks gave way into the water, but Kryda was determined to chip out that ore. 

When the pickaxe struck, the sound rang deep and metallic over the lake. Kryda stopped to listen to it ripple across the water and back again. As the initial echoes died down, she noticed there was a lower rumbling as well, coming from below. She put her ear to the rock and waved away another protest from Fáelán, whose pleading was growing more urgent. The rumbling didn’t last long, but she thought she could hear water splashing and dripping. With her ear still to the stone, she lifted her pick and struck again, this time slightly to the side of the chunk of ore. Her pickaxe sank deep into the rock, and the rumbling began again, followed by the ‘plunk’ of stones falling into water, but the sounds were all muffled echoes. Kryda’s eyes suddenly widened as she realized what that meant. 

“Fáelán!  Did ye hear tha’?! The echoing--do ye know what that means?!  It’s a cave, Fáelán!  A new cave! I’ll bet it has more ore than we can fit in our pouches!” Kryda exclaimed in youthful exuberance.  She sprinted back up to the edge. “We have got to be findin’ the way in!”  

“Kryda!  Slow down, please!”  Fáelán called after her, climbing carefully up behind her. “There probably isn’t a way in.  Scouts have come through here before and found nothin’ but rock. I’m tellin’ you--”

Kryda flopped down on her stomach and peered over the edge of the cliff, tapping her pickaxe and listening for weak spots, anything that would tell her how to get in.  Just then, the moss gave way under Kryda, and she slipped over the edge. She grasped at the shrubs growing from the side, scrambling for something to hold on to, but they were not strongly rooted in the rough stone, and each one broke away as easily as the moss had.  Just before Kryda hit the water, she glimpsed Lan leaning over the side of the cliff, his eyes wide with terror, one arm stretched out as if to catch her.

The icy cold of the water tugged at her, stealing the breath from her chest. She struggled to swim, but this was the first time she’d been in water deeper than her knees, and she’d never seen anyone else swim. Besides, she was still carrying a heavy pickaxe. As her muscles began to give out from lack of oxygen, she released her pickaxe, idly watching it fall as her mind and vision darkened. Somewhere in the back of her mind she saw it settle onto the bottom of the lake, right next to a dark hole in the cliff face. Kryda knew she should be excited for some reason, but her world was growing steadily darker, and she couldn’t think of anything but the sudden rush of cold in her chest and the shadow descending over her.

-----

Kryda shook off the memory as she slowly gathered the rest of the things Fáelán had left behind as he’d stormed out of the cave. With a pickaxe on either hip and a waterproof bag treated with animal fat slung over her shoulder, she slipped into the water and swam out of the mouth of the cave. She pulled herself out of the lake, idly wrung the worst of the dampness from her shirt, and strolled home slowly, enjoying what would likely be her last walk through this trail. 

She didn’t even notice the encroaching twilight until she heard two clear blasts of a horn. It was her mother’s signal, one she’d begun using when Kryda had started to wander further than a shout would carry. Kryda fumbled through her bag for her own instrument and hastily sounded two blasts in return to let her mother know that she was well and on her way home. Breaking into a sprint, she ran the rest of the way back to the village, knowing that every moment spared by her haste was one less moment of the inevitable maternal lecture she’d have to endure upon her return. 

The moment Kryda stepped through the door, her mother rushed to scold her. “Kryda!  Where have ye been, dear? When we saw Fáelán come back in such a sour mood, we thought you’d not be far behind ranting about his cautious nature as usual.” Turning briefly to her husband, she murmured to him, “You’d think after tha’ time when they were wee that she’d ha’ learnt to be more prepared herself.” Whirling back upon an impatient Kryda, she complained, “You know, we was worried sick all that night ye stumbled intae the lake. We sounded the horn, ye did nae answer. We sent scouts fer ya, but even the dogs lost the trail at the rocks and it was too dark for them poor people to see the-”

“Yes, mum,” Kryda broke in, “I know. You were so scared ya hardly let me leave the house for a week and even then, you'd come running after me down the path.  If it wasn't for da-"

"I think that'll be enough reminiscin’ fer tonight,” her father interrupted, quickly changing the subject. “Come, dear, ye need yer sleep."  He put his arm around his wife and smiled at her affectionately, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"You're right m’dear, it's late. All is well now, tha’s what matters.  G’night, me wee gem."  Mother gave Kryda a hug and a kiss on the cheek before heading to her bedroom. 

Father followed, but not before shooting Kryda a pointed look to remind her of their promise NOT to tell mother that he'd purposely distracted her so Kryda could 'escape’. Kryda smiled cheekily back at him. “G’night, mum ‘n da. Sleep well.”   

As Kryda sat quietly, waiting for the kettle to boil for her evening tea, she noticed that there was still a candle burning in Lan’s room across the way. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to go to him, to fall into his arms and seek his comfort, but knew that would only make this harder. Absorbed in his flickering shadow as it paced back and forth, Kryda didn’t notice the water in the kettle boiling over until the figure suddenly stopped. Lan must have felt that he was being watched. Kryda ducked out of sight, then quickly blew out her candle and finished preparing her tea by the light of the moon. She carried the tea to her room and sipped it thoughtfully until she was sure that everyone, including Lan, was fast asleep.  

After packing a single change of clothes and three days worth of food, Kryda strapped her pickaxe to her hip and covered herself in her sturdiest cloak, carefully adjusting the hood to shroud her face.  On her way out, she contemplated taking Lan’s pickaxe back to him. She crept across the way to his door, but as she was about to leave the pickaxe on his doorstep, she stopped.  Instead, she pulled her own out of the belt loop and propped it up beside the door, then strapped his to her hip.  After glancing up at his window one last time, she slipped into the shadows.  

-----

Fáelán couldn’t sleep. He was sure Kryda had been watching him, but when he glanced over at her window, there were no candles burning and all seemed quiet. Maybe she changed her mind and decided to stay after all, he thought. He kept watch by the window for as long as he could keep his eyes open, but the afternoon had taken more out of him than he’d realised, and he drifted off on the window ledge with his head on his arms. 

His sleep slowly filled with dreams, the worst he’d had since he was a mere lad. Kryda, lost in the bush and starving. Kryda fending off a vicious animal, her strong arms torn and bloodied. Kryda ripping his chest open, tearing his heart out with a fist as she laughed at his foolish affections. Kryda in the arms of some foreign man. Kryda, heavy with child, whispering, “I’ll never leave you, my fáerkéile,” then fading away. Of all the horrors he’d experienced, that one was the worst. It seemed so real, warmth and hope filling his chest as he gazed at his beloved, but it was all ripped away when he woke with a start, sweating profusely.

  As his pounding heart slowly regained its normal rhythm, Fáelán’s grip on reality returned, and he soon realized that his brief lull into sleep might have caused him to miss Kryda’s departure. He stared out the window, scrutinizing the familiar house and holding in a panicked breath, but he didn’t see or hear anything. Hoping that the stillness meant all was well after all, he sighed in relief.  

But as he stood up to blow out the candle, something down below caught the light of the moon. He couldn’t make out what it was, but he knew there hadn’t been anything there earlier. He’d missed something. With tears already threatening to overwhelm him again, he stumbled down to the front door and threw it open. His eyes caught the pickaxe on his doorstep. Snatching it up, he ran his fingers over the engraving of Kryda’s name, and agony gripped him. He glanced around frantically, but there was no one in sight. Collapsing to his knees, Fáelán threw back his head in rage and screamed her name.

-----

Kryda stumbled through the woods, twigs snapping underfoot, her cloak catching on bushes. Panting heavily, her mind raced through her plan of escape. If she could just make it to her first hideout, she’d be in the clear. No one, not even Lan, had known of this spot.  She’d used it when they were kids to win at hide and seek, which had been a little unfair since most of the other children were too afraid to stray that far from the village. She hadn’t purposely kept it from Lan--she hadn’t even thought about it in years--but now, she was glad it was still her secret.  

Almost there, Kryda thought to herself. Just a little longer, and then freedom. She paused briefly to catch her breath, leaning forward, her hands on her knees. A light breeze rustled the leaves around her, the silence broken only by the chirps and calls of woodland creatures. 

Then the scream of something terribly wounded ripped through the silence, and Kryda felt as if her heart would stop. It was Lan, bellowing her name, and the despair in his cry was like a knife in her chest. She had never, in all her time spent with the best friend she had in all the world, heard his voice so broken with utter betrayal. Gasping for air, sobs racking her body, Kryda’s resolve wavered.  She crumpled to her knees and wept like a babe. 

 It was the sound of her mother’s horn, followed by the distant shouts of searching villagers, that finally tugged her back to her feet and spurred her forward again. Kryda was exhausted, physically and emotionally, but she knew her pursuers were getting closer by the moment. She peered back at the path she’d taken, inspecting the trail she’d left them to follow. Satisfied, she stepped out of the forest and onto the hard-packed road that wound through the woods, towards the gates of the dwarven territory. The searchers would expect her to be heading this way, but with any luck, her tracks would vanish in the travel-worn road.

However, Kryda noticed that some bits of her cloak had been torn off by the bushes, and she knew that she couldn’t be careless enough to leave any more traces. Despite the chill of the night, she shed her cloak and crammed it hastily into her pack--there was that problem solved. She followed the road for a short while, then plunged back into the bushes, this time being more careful about leaving a trail.

When she finally emerged from the forest again, she was greeted by the welcome sight of the sturdy outer wall that surrounded the dwarven lands, snaking across a bumpy ridge of hills that lent extra height to the barrier. Dotted along the hills, just inside the wall, were crumbling clusters of abandoned dwarven hovels. This was where her village had begun centuries ago, before constant wars forced her ancestors to abandon the top of the ridge and instead retreat behind it for safety. They had constructed the long wall atop the ridge, then dug a tunnel through the largest hill to allow the road through it, instead of over it, and barred the tunnel with sturdy wooden gates. 

As a result of these fortifications, not much was left of the old hovels. Most had collapsed entirely into piles of rubble, with only a few chimney stones left standing to speak of olden days. Kryda’s keen eyes scanned the ruins until she spotted her hideout--a particularly miniature hovel, surprisingly sturdy in comparison to the rest, squatting atop a nondescript hill to the east of the tunneled gates.

While exploring the ridge as a child, Kryda had quickly discovered why this particular small hut had not shared the same fate as the rest. The village elders had told stories of a crazy old inventor that once lived among her people, an elderly gnome who had kept mostly to himself. Once in a while, though, the villagers would hear small explosions from his home, or the little tinkerer would run about the village showing off his newest inventions. 

The dwarves rarely had any use for his fancy gadgets, but visiting traders of other races seemed to like them, and the old gnome never did anyone any harm--in fact, he was particularly beloved by the dwarven children, whom he would sometimes indulge with gifts of intricate little toys. No one knew why he had chosen to live with the dwarves in the first place, instead of among his own people, but he seemed content. However, luckily for Kryda, he had not been content to adopt their architectural habits, and had chosen to construct his home of mostly metal instead of wood and stone, and added many little oddities to keep the little hut snug and strong. This is what gave Kryda her hiding place.  

Kryda clambered up the hill, seeking the secret entrance she knew was there. Nestled between a couple of large slabs of rock were the remnants of the gnome’s strange sky window. The glass had shattered long ago as the ground shifted from the collapsing structures nearby, but the metal frame surrounding it remained in place and provided an opening to the hovel.

Kryda slipped tentatively into the opening, taking special care not to cut herself on the remaining rose-colored fragments of glass, and curled up in a dark, sheltered corner of the hut. Even though she was still sweating profusely from the run through the bush, she felt a chill run down her spine. She was scared. Scared of leaving, scared of being found and forced to return, scared to face Fáelán. Shivering, she pulled out her cloak and wrapped it snugly around herself, trying to forget the deep pain tugging at her heart. Despite Kryda’s many layered exhaustion, sleep eluded her for several long hours. It wasn’t until the muffled sounds of a search passed by and faded that sleep finally, mercifully, overtook her.