“What’s happening?” she asks, scared, with her eyes still closed, as Falkor begins to make a series of gargling noises.

Phoenix feels the pain in her jaw and nose ease, as does the aching in her bones. The cuts on her body seem to dissipate. Falkor snorts and struggles to maintain his balance, saliva dripping from his chin. Scorching pain tears through Phoenix’s mind.

“Ow, my head, my head!” she cries out, opening her eyes wide.

“Stop!” Trixie quickly interjects.

Falkor eases his grip and Trixie parts the young elves’ hands. Phoenix moves back from Falkor and takes a moment to catch her breath. He detects Trixie’s presence and turns towards her. He taps the top of his head a few times with his left hand and shakes his head.

Trixie’s face contorts into mild unease. “That’s okay,” she whispers to Falkor, before hugging the disfigured elf and giving him a sip of something from a nearby hip flask.

Phoenix takes a sharp intake of air. She feels strong and healthy. Her connection to the Sunwell seems momentarily heightened and she can feel its magic seeping into her. It feels good. She opens her mouth and starts to say something, but the moment is interrupted by a distant noise, growing in volume.

A dwarf suddenly comes sliding down the ladder, landing like a lumpy piece of mud plopping onto tarmac.

“Urgh,” he pants, out of breath.

Phoenix, startled, turns to look at the commotion, blinking. Trixie stands and turns to face the dwarf, expectantly.

“Wheee!” says another person in a deep but almost melodic, wavy voice, out of sight. A pair of legs whizz down the ladder, hammering onto the first dwarf’s shoulders. It’s a ridiculous sight: two broad-bellied little beings, one standing on top of the other, holding onto the same ladder and facing towards everyone in between the ladder rungs, too out of breath to speak. They are wider and slightly taller than Trixie but still short, especially when compared to the troll or the beast, measuring around four foot in height to Trixie’s three. Phoenix thinks they look like some sort of oversized stacking cups with bellies attached to them.

“Oh ye silly sod, I told you to stop doing that!” the lower dwarf angrily shouts up at his compatriot, straining his voice. The veins in his neck bulge as he struggles with the added weight above him. “Get off!” he wheezes.

The dwarf on top chortles and jumps down to his right. He is also panting but not as breathless as the other dwarf, who holds a frown on his weathered, slightly wrinkled face. The two look almost identical, with thick brown-grey beards and bald heads. Phoenix assumes they are twins.

“Henry! Harris! What news do ya bring?” Trixie asks.

“No good booze, move quickly we must, and elves smell of dust,” the second, jovial dwarf says like words from a song.

“Shut up ye tool,” the first dwarf, blurts out quickly with a raised voice, clipping the other round the ear. “What he meant to say is we found what we were looking for, my lady.” He bends over to catch his breath.

“Have we?” Trixie says with mild delight. “Have we indeed… Excellent work boys.”

She smiles at Django as she passes him, the troll returning a knowing look as she moves towards the ladder. Trixie pats both dwarves on the back before handing them a bottle of drink from a nearby shelf.

The second dwarf attempts to take it but his hand is swatted away by the other, who takes a large gulp from the bottle, swallowing and breathing out loudly afterwards.

Trixie turns to Phoenix.

“This is Henry,” she says, opening her arm towards the grumpier, out of breath dwarf. “And this is his brother, Harris. They look the same, but by golly, don’t get their names wrong will you.”

Harris looks at Phoenix. He raises his hand and twiddles his fingers frivolously at her with a silly wave.

“Hello,” Phoenix says, sheepishly.

“Hi lass,” Henry responds, between breaths.

“Feel free ta change, Phoenix,” Trixie says, her eyes looking towards the nearby door. “Quickly if ya can. I want to show ya something else, above ground.”

The elf nods, finding it awkward to even walk through the door next to her, while all eyes are on her. But she does as she’s asked and moves into the room, bolting the door behind her. There’s a lantern on the wall in here, lighting up her surroundings. There are some clothes hung up to dry, along with an empty bath and some towels.

She changes quickly, and to her delight finds the boots fit her snugly, though the new leather tunic - with its sleeves and hood - is a little baggy. She admires the matching belt and boots, both black with gold-coloured buckles, and feels warm and almost dashing in her new outfit with brown tights. She puts her brown satchel around her shoulder, which matches her new clothes better than her simple cloth garb she wore previously.

Phoenix takes a deep breath, and kicks her old torn outfit into the corner. She returns to the main room.

Trixie smiles at Phoenix and looks at Django, who is sitting at the table.

“Blue, Phoenix, with me,” Trixie says, before heading up the ladder.

Phoenix glances at the troll, who is sniffing some white powder from the table into his right nostril. She looks away, feeling a little scared. He takes a deep breath and stands, before heading up the ladder. Phoenix reluctantly follows.