"Are you sure he's her brother?" Gonâd whispered to Nob, as the elves wandered along hand in hand.

"That's her story," Nob replied. He, like Fokin, was completely fed up with elves. Gonâd, evidently, wanted to finish what he had started by the campfire, but found he had no opportunity. For Vagísil liked to wander off and prey on travellers to satisfy her urges. Or her brother, Nob thought.

"She tried doing it to me once," Fokin sighed. "Until she realised I was screaming with mortal fear rather that delight at having an elven wench sitting on me."

"But- she's so beautiful," Gonâd said simply.

"Looks like any other bloody elf. Long, perfect hair, tall, willowy- that's her word, not mine. I prefer far too thin. I mean, where's the beard?"

"Beard?" Nob and Gonâd chorused. They had simply been expecting another rant on elves, not this bizarre twist in the grumble.

"Yes, beard," Fokin said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I like women to have a bit of a beard. Even a little one, like Gonâd's, which, you have to admit, is rather pathetic."

It is male nature to behave like a complete and utter child when a part of his anatomy is called "pathetic". Even for something as trivial as a beard, Gonâd felt it still warranted threatening to hit the dwarf.