G’irl stared out at the world through an almost permanent haze of contempt. He didn’t fit in anywhere. Not with the humans, and certainly not with his mothers people. Even his name was joke about his small stature! Only just eight feet tall! Such a disappointment to his mother…
He crashed through the snow like a battering ram, a simmering rage barely held in check as he recalled his torturous childhood. Even Tiem, The Enchanter had only really taken him in to see if could teach a half-breed the rudiments of magic. He made a concerted effort to calm himself, running the simple catechism through his mind over and over and over again.
“We reach the end of Carvoran Way soon.” He rumbled over his iron clad shoulder. “Wraik Hill should be one more days travel then,” called Whiskey Jack, running lightly over even the most powdery snow “the sun is chasing toward its house at the end of the sky, and we need to be at the Cave of Trees before then!”