Several years later, Kiri is still with the dwarves, and is now twelve years old.

Kiri's POV:

I woke up with the sun shining down in my eyes, and turned over and stretched. As I was about to get up, Barbanril, my 'overseer', kicked me in the ribs.

"Get up, you ugly old hag," he grumbled. "We have so much work to do and you're just lying in bed!? I ought to report you to Nargadorgar, I ought! Why he even let you stay here with us, I mean, we were respectable dwarves until you came in here and messed everything up."

He bit angrily at the end of his beard and spit it out in disgust."PAH" he snorted. "If I was Nargadorgar you'd be dead a long time ago. What does he think he's doing?!?"

He suddenly quieted and straitened- Nargadorgar had entered the cave. "Now, Barb," his 'gentle' voice sounded like a volcano erupting. "You know better than to mishandle my property. I have reasons for keeping her alive, and besides, an extra pair of hands is very useful for weapon-making."

He stormed out of the room, much louder than he had entered.

'Barb' scowled. "Now look what you've done, you nasty little pointy-ears! Get up now before I'll be forced to use corporal measures."

I sighed. "I'm getting up," I said hurriedly, and stood up and stretched. This time I was expecting the kick, and managed to leap away with the grace of my people that none of the dwarves could beat.

If possible, this only made Barbanril angrier, and his face distorted in rage. Suddenly, with an evil glint in his eyes, he flung his axe at me with all his strength. Not expecting it, I was only able to move slightly before it hit, but that movement saved my life, although my hand was crushed completely.

The last thing I saw before everything faded into darkness was my bloody, mutilated, right hand.