Gnoston came out from his village to meet us. Word had reached him that we were traveling up the Low-way of the dwarves. He and a contingent of his neighbors had declared a holiday and had set up a feast in the town square.
Dunfallon was placed at the head of the table in the place of honor while the rest of us were relegated to either side of him. The jollity at times grew raucous but took on a solemn tone when our pixie queried our host about dragons.
Gnoston, after some hesitation, related some strange phenomena that not only he had experienced but many others had complained about also. He could only describe it as a creeping breeze that was accompanied by a chill that froze him in his tracks. No one saw a thing. He was so relieved when it had passed. And it was the same experience twice.
With that Dunfallon filled Gnoston in about what had happened up on Gilgorgon’s mountain.
In one sense despite our uneasiness it made us all the more eager to press on to the capital.