DWARF IN A HOLE

Once more the dwarf returned to the plundered cottage, only then the sun choosing to rise. Colors once abyssal blue crisped purple until giving way to warm tones. Earlier before the blue had faded, Funguayou set the dwarf on a journey back in search of nails, hinges, copper--anything of general use in the construction of door. Before leaving, he ‘SAVED’, and the dwarf further saw to it heavy planks were propped up against the entrance in stacks, only a small alcove above allowed (if only for the dwarf could not reasonably figure out the necessary maneuver). He trusted his flock to the fungus, given ultimately no choice. The Ponderous Tree’s cries found attention in the dwarf’s thoughts during the color purple, and this uneased him. But, orange dominating the sky, the dwarf’s heart beat its way to a full drumming rhythm, his task important but certainly not dominant, his return indebted to the left-behind package of jewels wrapped in black and gold paper.

Creeping up to the steps, the dwarf’s back chilled fast as he considered whether or not Captain Locust had returned while he and his animals were elsewhere. An immediate fear froze the dwarf’s heavy steps. What if the elf were still inside? What if he lay in wait for either Doctor Mallow or its burglar? Hesitation stayed the dwarf’s calloused feet, and it was not until he decided on chancing a window that he regained command of his limbs. Up slowly to it, the dwarf’s breath clung to the glass, and so a shaky hand pressed as gently as possible across it while the dwarf kept his nose below the sill. A dark den greeted him--nothing looked particularly different since he’d last seen the cottage. No elf laid in any chair. The couch was awkwardly a space away from the cellar as he remembered leaving it. But in such darkness the dwarf could not make out the package he knew laid just by the front. He decided to chance the back door given his proximity, and a clammy grip took hold of the door’s knob. He twisted. The bolt resisted. Panic swept over the dwarf. Had Locust come and locked up for the doctor’s sake? It wasn’t unreasonable to consider the possibility of a second key--if a first existed to begin with, the dwarf weighed. He caught himself exhaling deeply, inhaling weakly. The dwarf then remembered he himself had locked the back door after returning from the fissure with his new flock. He wondered if an elf really had been to the cottage in the interim the dwarf had not.

Coming back around the front in too fast a pace to consider stealthy, the dwarf tried the door and, to his relief, it crept open, light seeping in illuminating the package of tampered gold, black, and purple. The dwarf stepped in, swung the door shut, gave the lock a tight twist, and fell to the carpet in unbelievable bliss. He cursed himself for conjuring up a beast of his own anxiety unfounded in reality. Captain Locust had made good on his end of the deal and left behind the package. Remembering the elven gutting of funguay within the fissure’s caves, he considered whether or not an elf would want anything further to do with one, non-feral or not. His berating continuing, he realized relocating to a doorless church with holes aplenty was a poor decision. The dwarf had given up the safety of reinforced entrances and a massive basement to boot. His forehead grinded against the carpet in penance, and the dwarf, exhausted, slowed to a stop...

The den still bright, the dwarf came to nothing in particular, his tired eyes adjusting one blink at a time. He glanced about the place, light filtering through the sole pane of the room. He got up and shoved aside the padded wooded couch making his way back down into the well known tunnels beneath. Caught up before in learning the basement layout and tending to tasks, only in his fresh descent did the dwarf realize how many rooms had been overlooked. One opened into a modest bedroom--clearly the doctor’s. Another into a tall storeroom. This the dwarf searched thoroughly, barrels upended and sacks pulled loose. Not only did the dwarf discover exactly what he was looking for--several fashioned hinges and a couple dozen nails--but bonuses aplenty. More corn and broccoli seeds joined what had already been scavenged, increasing the dwarf’s chances of a successful yield, he appreciated. He found a sack of five fresh green apples and sealed it within the bigger of its kind--with two skewered holes to breathe. And more flour. Ground crumbs. Whatever he could grow, he would cook well. The dwarf even smiled at showing up Funguayou in COOKING.

One discovered room led to a much smaller den, its shape circular and stretched higher than the storeroom. In fact, beams of natural light poured through the ceiling--through a massive glass skylight completely unobscured, the dwarf could see the sun at its apex. Gnawing his fruit, he could as well spy tall jutting branches and leaves as saturated as apples blowing aplenty. Despite the harshness of the sun, the dwarf needed not squint, he realized. Whatever properties the transparent glass bore the dwarf could not comprehend, but he understood as much as knowing it shielded from summer rays. No warmth penetrated to be certain. But the cool temperature of the cellar and it’s many rooms were not responsible for freezing the dwarf into near immobility, his eyes fixated on the sudden shapes that appeared on one end and made their way to the other, their tall statures and knife-like ears projecting particular, unmistakable shadows downward. The chewed core fell from the dwarf’s hands. He bolted from the spot caught up in the tide of rushing fear and terror and allowed himself be swept up the hallways fast as possible, barreling past the ajar couch and out from the cellar and onto carpet in a quick fall. Knee skinned, the dwarf sprang forward regardless and seized the package of coins and gems, skipping between both exits to reinspect the locks’ positions. He found himself in the middle of the room trapped in a loop of panic as unmistakable steps settled across the other side of the front door.

Daring to make no sound, the dwarf’s eyes tasted the salt that dripped from above. His tired feet felt a certain softness of the floor that could only be likened to a head on pillow. His palms regained a clammy property. He shut his eyes. He heard the knob wobble.

“This is Captain Locust speaking. Dwarf! You are surrounded. Unseal this stolen property at once!”

The lock continued to jiggle, a tight, frustrated grip clearly wrestling from the other side in agitated fervor. The wood boomed with palms from the other side. The unmistakable scraping of blade against scabbard led to a brandished sword whooshing through the outside air. It slid past weatherstripping and poked and prodded the inside of the cottage, fishing no doubt for the bolt. But the actions were in vain and, in a gasp of anger, the sounds of repeated kicking rang, too many to be solely the captain’s. And soon, unable to withstand the barrage, the door crashed to the ground revealing three elves in the entrance. To Locust’s left and right his subordinates entered the room, bows low and ready. The left elf walked in marine blue, the right in green. Only the captain’s gi defied color, its chalk whiteness soaking the sun up through the room’s sole pane. His long hair hung still around him, its length surely but a few months from treading the ground. From his neck hung a talisman, still so similar to a corroded cross.

“Stubby burglar’s gone an’ trashed the place, ain’t he?” asked Sowsmith in blue.

“Course ‘e ‘as ya ball brained fool, who else?” returned Giltgrief in green.

“Do not be so quick to assume, brothers,” said the captain. “Fungus, freaks they are, live quite different lives than that of elfkind.”

“C-Course. Yea,” added Giltgrief.

Sowsmith glanced around as if looking for something only his superiors could see.

“A shroom gone and done this itself?”

“Incredulous?” asked Locust. “The prisoner may not appear feral, but their minds all are, I assure you. Now suspend this line of questioning and remember why we have come.”

“Yeah-huh, yeah-huh. The dwarf...” came the quaking blue.

“Sowsmith.”

“Yes brother, sir! Captain.”

“Check the back door.”

“Yes sir, brother, sir. Er--”

“At once!”

Sowsmith dashed across the room in an awkward dance but, nonetheless, succeeded in his crossing and checked the lock. Locked. He announced the discovery to the other elves.

“Wonderful,” came Locust. “He has betrayed himself--either the dwarf is out and intends to return... or lies below.” With this he glanced at the cellar. “Giltgrief, you will stay above ground and watch for the dwarf’s return.” Giltgrief silently saluted. “Sowsmith... you will join me below.” Sowsmith nervously saluted. “Very well. Giltgrief... I trust you will be vigilant. Giltgrief smiled a toothy grin.

“‘Course, sir. Don’ts have no trouble with me.”...

A clammy silence took hold of the cottage. Two of the three elves had long descended into the basement’s many tunnels and rooms. The third, Giltgrief, had quickly slid unto his rear in their absence and taken up a deep snoring. Being already on the floor and in so deep a trance, the elf did not notice a figure emerge from beneath stacked blankets nor did he realize it dragging himself gradually across the carpet.

“STEALTH SKILL INCREASED TO 7”

“‘Uh? Wuzzat...?” sputtered Giltgrief. The dwarf remained still. “... Very well...”

On the opposite side of the now sealed cellar, the dwarf shoved the couch back to its position in front, then began stacking anything and everything he could atop, beneath, to the sides, in front, and atop that front, and so forth. Heavy black blocks from the kitchen were dumped, the chairs were situated, dressers were shoved, table upturned, other furniture quickly involved.

The dwarf fell on his own rear and observed the hastily made barricade. It would have to hold. He knew he had to trust the construction for he could not stay and maintain it in the interest of time, precious his next hours would be. The dwarf thought immediately to return to the steeple--but would could he gain? Having saved before returning to the mossy cottage by morning, fleeing back felt pointless; if he wished to escape, he would throw himself off a cliff and gain a few hours headstart. No, the dwarf knew he really only possessed one action worth doing, and that is why, bag slung over his dwarfen arms, treasure of black and gold and purple secured, the dwarf burst out from the plundered cottage and back within crisp air. He inhaled and, determined, the dwarf dashed out into the forest before the cliffs before the plains before the shining city on the shoreline.