Edmund slowly became aware that he was laying on something soft, he had almost decided that what had happened to him was a dream until his eyes focused on an old wrinkled face in front of him. Edmund quickly scrambled backwards on the small bed hitting his back against the cold stone wall, the elderly woman moved her arms in a placating manner while making hushing noises. Edmund had to calm himself, still breathing heavy he took in the place he was in. It was cluttered, little knick-knacks littering the floor that was covered in any ashy black soot. The old woman, he realized, was a good foot shorter than him but did not look young at all. She was wrinkly and she had a stern face that most old people had, the stern but loving face they dole out to their grandchildren. She peered at him with queer black eyes, and he stared back with uncertain brown. "Are you done now manling?" She asked him tersely. Edmund's throat finally felt the strain from yesterday's screaming so he just nodded his head. She clicked her tongue, wagging her finger at him. "Quite the pair of pipes you have manling," she moved across the room parting the cluttered tools and such on the floor, "I have just the thing for your sore throat." The little old woman grabbed a cup sitting on the dusty table off to the side. It was filled with a strange green liquid and in all honesty Edmund really did not want to know how it tasted, but the old woman was persistent and Edmund found the cup in his hands and an expectant look coming from her that reminded Edmund too closely to his mother. He sighed slightly and took a great swig of the green concoction. It….wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, in fact it didn't really taste like anything and soon it was gone. The Grandmotherly woman nodded slowly, "Feel better manling?" Edmund found his voice was no longer in horrible condition so he replied quietly, "Yes, I do feel better." And as an afterthought he added, "Thank you."
It was strange, the place he found himself in, everyone was small Edmund found himself having to pay close attention or he might step on a young child. The peoples crowded around him and the woman, muttering and murmuring as they passed. "Where am I?" He quietly asked the elderly woman leading him through the streets. "You are in the Iron Halls of the Black Bead Dwarves." She said curtly. She then looked down and back up, peering into what Edmond thought his very soul, "Do you wish to leave, little Manling?" The question was not said with pressed professionalism like all the others she asked the boy, not this one was asked softly. Edmund's blood ran cold at the thought of being sent out into the woods, with wolves, with who knows what else. "No, I'd rather not please." He said just as soft, but filled with fright. The grandmotherly dwarf looked at him with sad eyes, before they returned to the silence and walked on.
It was then that he saw the platform from when he was falling, the elderly dwarf had positioned both Edmund and herself in the absolute center of the circular platform. Thousands upon thousands of dwarves stood around the platform, all watching and waiting at them. The elderly dwarf rose her arms, opened her mouth and bellowed louder than any small creature had the right to sound. "Dwarrow!" She yelled, "We have a Manling in our midst!" Murmurers broke out amongst the crowd, "Do not be alarmed, The Alma has decided he is of the harmless flock." Edmund shuffled with his feet, trying to imagine himself anywhere other than under these eyes. "The Manling will stay as long as he proves he does not bring us ill." The crowd was restless and voices rose, "What if he does bare ill will!" "We cannot possibly let an outsider into our asylum!" "this is madness! Alma please reconsider!" She stood firm under the waves of concerns and fears and when each voice dwindled she opened one of her eyes she barked out a laugh and gestured at the hoard of dwarves, "Look at yourselves, ranting and raving, squalling over a manling." She then scoffed and Edmund found himself transfixed with this dress down, "I thought we Black Beads were fearless," her hand curled into a fist and her dark eyes became like black fire surveying the dwarves. She seemed much younger now as she continued on, "But it seems we have grown soft and weak to fear a child." Loud 'no's and explicates were hurled out at this, making Edmund's ears and face burn red at how vulgar the words were. Alma only snorted, "If you have any questions or grievances with this idea he will not be given any special treatment." Her gaze turned on Edmund, who stood stock still. "He will work just as we do, he will earn his keep under this mountain just as we do." She than adressed the crowd once more, "Is this all in agreement with the clan?!" A rancorous yelling of agreement rose now from the crowd, who had been swayed. A victorious smile stretched Alma's wrinkles away and she turned to Edmund, "Welcome little one, you're to be with us for a while."