Astrid shakes her head, still not sure how to explain it. “Three dwarves. Real ones, from deep down: they didn’t even speak Trade. We helped ’em and they led us out of the mountain in return. I thought there was just a rockfall behind us or something which explained why we couldn’t make our way back to you guys, didn’t realise it moved—”

And she’s had dealings with dwarves before, is the thing which keeps tripping her up. Surface-dwellers and the ones appointed to liaise with the surface, businessmen and traders and Carta, people who spoke the Avvar language of basic commerce and pragmatic exchange in their shared mountain spaces. These ones, though…

“You ever seen someone with glowing blue eyes?” she asks.