Adad and Inùdoy
"Higher... higher... higher-no! Lower... a little bit more..." whispered Yurri from his crouched position in the wood, eyeing something overhead.
"Adad! He's going to get away! I'm going to loose!" cried young Zurri defiantly in a hushed hiss, his bow drawn back a considerable way. He and his father were staring at an unsuspecting stag overhead, through bushes, the two dwarves preparing to strike.
"Not yet, inùdoy, not yet. Higher just a fraction, now. Well done, perfect. Loose!" commanded Yurri.
Zurri let fly his arrow, and it whistled through the air, lodging itself firmly in the neck of the creature for a quick, clean kill. Birdsong was abruptly usurped by the flapping of wings and rustling of branches as many birds took flight, scattering among the grey sky as they fled.
"Now, you remember what I told you about hunting, hm?" enquired Yurri as he brandished a hunting knife, tossing it in his hand playfully. "If you're going to live many leagues from a dwarven stronghold with only your amad for company, you'll need to learn how to provide for yourself sooner or later." With that, he handed down the dagger to his son with a devilish grin.
Zurri nodded once without any mirth of his own. He stepped over to the stag, and plunged the blade deep within, unphased by the sound of the sickening crunch on piercing the flesh.
After they returned to their camp further in the forest, they began preparing the meat. Not much later, they were devouring the now cooked venison in silence, with only the crackling of the fire serving to inject some noise into their mysterious world. They were flanked on all sides by tall, thick trees of pine and oak variety. Where they were in Middle-Earth was only for them to know, for this was their hunting trip - but home was not too far away, wherever 'home' was for the two.
Zurri eyed his father with no small measure of uncertainty, swallowing down the last of his venison. He was but a young dwarrow, a child in the eyes of his kin, his blonde beard weak and whispy. The young dwarf noted that Yurri was more preoccupied with his food, and so he decided to speak up to win his attention.
"Amad says you'll leave us before the sun is up tomorrow..." tested Zurri, eyeing his father wearily.
Yurri paused in his eating, staring at the soil between his feet. He then wiped his mouth and beheld his son, his dark brows creasing in curiosity.
"And what do you think?"
"I think she's right. You've disappeared before."
The two met a pause in their dialogue. Crickets chirped nearby, woodpeckers pecked at trees further down the valley, but just close enough to hear. Both dwarves stared at one another, and a mutual understanding began to form, much to their equal discomfort.
"My inùdoy thinks little of me" accused Yurri, though his tone was neutral and without menace.
"Your inùdoy wonders where you go. What reason could you have to wonder so aimlessly?" Zurri persisted, oblivious to the trauma of the great inferno or the numerous battles Yurri held fast in.
Yurri gave Zurri a hard stare, and the low rumble of thunder made the announcement of a coming storm. The father's look eventually did ease. He chose to smile instead, and he tossed his last bit of venison into the lap of Zurri, who smirked and tucked in accordingly. Just like that, the matter of the fleeting father was set aside for now. Or so Yurri thought, for Zurri still chanced sending the odd worried look his way as he ate.
These two dwarves were bound by blood. Adad and inùdoy, father and son - Yurri promised to never again part company. It was a promise, however, that he could not keep. Haunted by the heavy losses he did suffer at home and beyond, his fractured soul required further mending - Zurri, nor his mother, would be the ones to rekindle the forges within him. None could.
So Yurri fled, though not for the first time, and certainly not the last.
