Facing the kitsune Treekle gave a low sigh. “Aye lass, horse dung does transform into manure over time. How insightful of you, alas I still have no desire to shovel it because it is beneath my station. Should we happen to need willing dung movers however, I shall be the first to employ your services.” Giving Ayana a cheerful nod Treekle turned away only to be completely caught off guard by Rhen.

	“The bloody nerve of that lass.” Treekle muttered to himself as Rhen walked away, his face a similar shade of red as his braided beard. “Grabbing my whiskers and insinuating a dwarf maidens have a beards, what utter nonsense. And we bathe just enough as need be, I certainly don’t smell like an ogre orgy.” His self-reassurance aside Treekle lifted his arm and took a quick sniff, wrinkling up his nose at the bitter scent. Rhen was lucky he had the restraint to keep from lolloping off her arm with his mattock when she grabbed his braid, and it left him too flustered to retort. A number of good comebacks filtered through his head in quick succession but all he managed was a quiet, “damn changeling,” under his breath.

	The dwarf’s good spirits returned in short order however when Rintor suggested moving towards the mountains. Raising his fist into the air Treekle voiced his agreement with this proposition. A mountain would be an excellent place to start his research, rivers and baths be damned. And they didn’t seem that far off to him, he estimated they could reach them before the second sun descended below the horizon. But perhaps the scouts would know for sure, that being their job and all.