CRACK! CRACK! The sound echoed through the tunnel. A dwarf stood at the end swinging his pickaxe at the wall. Each swing sent stone crumbling away. He did so almost tirelessly. By the time he stopped there was rubble up to his knees.

He leaned his pickaxe against the wall and grabbed a sack. He filled it with rubble, scooping it in with his hands. When the sack was full, he tied it shut and set it against the wall.

            Before going back to mining he took a short water break. He leaned against the end of the tunnel gulping at his canteen. He took a moment to breath and looked down the almost endless tunnel. He could barely see the opening any more. He had dug this over the course of years. The tunnel was short and round, not large enough for a normal man, but he fit comfortably. Anyone else might have found it hard to breath for the air was full of dust, but the dwarf liked the smell.

            He took a couple more swallows of water before going back to work.

            At the end of the day he had three more bags against the wall. He grabbed two, one over each shoulder and began trudging down the long tunnel. He could feel the sharp rocks digging into his back through the burlap sacks.

He was about half way there when he set the bags down to get a drink of water. This was getting harder.

I must be getting old, he thought. But then he pushed it out of his head, and after a quick drink he carried on.

When he neared the exit, it was already dark. He stepped out of the mountain into the light of the moon. His face and clothes were completely covered in dust. He looked like a ghost. Even his mule was unnerved by his appearance. The mule stood at the edge of the forest tied to a tree.

The dwarf dumped the bags of rubble out and went back for the other two.

When he finally got the other bags dumped, he stepped up to the mule and untied him. He had his pickaxe strapped to his back, and a little pouch on his hip. It contained the little specs of diamond and gold he had found.

Before he got on the donkey, he reached into the saddle bag. After a second of searching he pulled out a revolver. He checked the cylinder. Six bullets.

The dwarf got on the donkey and urged it on.

The mule slowly sauntered through the forest. The dwarf looked around at the vast forest. Anyone could be hiding behind a tree or a rock. He held his revolver in a tight grip. He could feel the splintered wood handle and the rusty trigger in his hand. He forced himself to keep his eyes down at the passing ground. He could bare it if he just kept his eyes down.

Eventually he arrived at his house. It was a small building made from blocks of stone. The dwarf quickly got off the donkey and tied him to a tree. He couldn’t relax until he got inside with the door shut. He lived in a small one room house. There was a table in the middle, a fireplace on the far wall, and a bed in the corner.

Before he went to bed, he made a quick fire in the fireplace and cooked some stew. He sat at the table in the middle of the room eating it. His pickaxe was hung up beside the door, and his revolver laid next to him on the table. He took another bite of his stew. It rolled around in his mouth until he swallowed it. It was a lumpy tasteless paste made up of mushrooms. Eventually he got it all down and went to sleep.

The next morning, he woke to the sound of hooves on grass.

“Hello,” someone called out.

 The dwarf quickly pulled on some clothing and grabbed his revolver off the table. Slowly he cracked the door and peaked through. Standing outside in front of the dwarf’s house was a man on a horse. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder, and two pistols, one on each hip. The dwarf took his revolver and put it to the door planning on shooting through it if needed.

“Who are you?” he shouted through the crack in the door.

“I tracked a bear to this area, I was wondering if you’ve seen him?”

The dwarf slowly opened the door. The man didn’t look like he meant any harm. “No, I haven’t seen anything.” He said, “Where would he be?”

“I suspect he’s in the forest north of here. If I were you, I’d stay inside. He attacked a village not far from here. I’ve been sent to track him down.”

“Ok, I’ll watch out for him.”

“Well I best be going.” He shook the reins and his horse trotted off.

The dwarf stepped back inside and made himself breakfast. It was the same mush he’d made the night before. While he ate, he contemplated not going to the mine today.

Eventually he decided to go. He couldn’t take the thought of staying in the house all day.

The donkey walked slowly through the forest. With each step the dwarf got more and more nervous. He held his revolver at his side. He could see the mine ahead of him. He wished he could make the donkey go a little faster.

Suddenly, the forest got quiet. The birds stopped chirping. The entire forest seemed to be holding its breath.

The dwarfs hand tightened around the revolver. The only sound came from the donkey’s hoofs on the ground.

Clip, clop, clip, clop.

Sweat rolled down the dwarf’s face. He didn’t dare make a sound.

 Then as quick as they had stopped the birds began to chirp again.

When the dwarf eventually made it to the mine, he quickly tied up the donkey and went inside.

The days mining trip ended all to soon for the dwarf. He was not looking forward to the trip home. He didn’t find much ore. A little bit of coal, that was pretty much it.

After carrying the bags of stone out and dumping them he got on the donkey, who seemed a little to eager to get home.

The dwarf carried his pistol at his side again, and his pickaxe was strapped to his back.

The forest was even more daunting at night. The only light came from the moon. It hung low in the sky casting long shadows throughout the forest.

The dwarf was about half way home when a gunshot rang out through the forest. The donkey took off, and the dwarf was thrown from his back. The dwarf got to his feet and looked around. The donkey was long gone.

He guessed the gun shot was a good thing, the hunter probably killed the bear.

He began to walk towards his home. Another gunshot went off. The dwarf began to run. A few seconds later another shot went off.

            The dwarf didn’t stop until his house came into view, but only because of what he saw.

The bear was standing in front of his house over the fallen hunter. The bear was about to crush him.

The dwarf raised his pistol but hesitated. He could run, and probably get away.

No, he thought to himself

The dwarf looked down the sight and squeezed the trigger.

The shot went to the left. The bear looked at him with a face of rage. It got down on all fours and began to charge at him. He shot twice more. Both shots missed.

The dwarf tried to dodge out of the way but was knocked to the ground as the bear slammed into him. Just as he tried to get up the bear picked him up in his mouth and threw him against a tree.

The dwarf struggled to his feet. The bear stood only feet away. He let out a deafening roar. The dwarf pulled his pickaxe off his back. He had his revolver in his left hand and his pickaxe in his right.

The bear began to charge toward him.

Time seemed to slow down as the dwarf took a deep breath and waited. When the bear came in range, he struck it in the head with muscle from years of hacking at a stone wall. The bear fell to the ground. Before it could get up the dwarf lifted his revolver and shot it through the head.

The dwarf stood there for a second before the adrenalin wore off and pain set it. He legs grew week and he fell on his back. He looked up at the trees. He could see the stars through a gap in the leaves. For the first time in his life he laid outside without being afraid of what might be out there.