Thurston follows Val muttering "witchcraft..."but keeps a worried eye over Xej from time to time.

Outside Shelek's garden the light is fading fast. There's a sound on the wind almost like singing and the path ahead runs along a deep, steep-walled gully between two great, creaking overhangs of ice.

Vark is happy to put the strange garden and Xej’s lost name behind them, but as they begin to pass into the icy gully ahead, Vark’s ears seem to twitch at the otherworldly sound that seems to emanate from the walls themselves. 

“Uhm, g-guys,” he says, bringing Toivoa to a halt. “You all hear that too, right? That… that doesn’t sound like just wind.” His eyes glow, peering at the frozen walls wondering if there might be some latent magic here but he finds only mundane ice and stone

Thurston wasn't really paying attention and he doesn't hear nothing weird, but he has learned to trust his friends instincts and he stops, grabbing Rikkazarik, ready for anytihng.

Aiden's hand falls to his sword, following quietly behind the group. His eyes scan the direction the sound flows from, ready for anything.

Xej had been so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't even notice the noise until Vark drew the group's attention to it. He hadn't even noticed the change in scenery as he sat on the wagon getting used to the sound of his own new name and trying to drown out the sound of Jex laughing at the back of his consciousness. Now he perked his ears up and he could feel Jex's instincts also prickling. 

"Why do you all reach for your weapons? Has any one of you considered just singing back?"

“Huh.” Vark responds, pleasantly bewildered by the simplicity and innocence of Xej’s suggestion. “Worth a shot!” he says with a shrug. 

He begins quietly at first, closing his eyes as he attempts to hum along to the tones emanating from the mountain. There’s not exactly a tune to follow, but as he gains confidence in matching the notes he grows louder. A gust whips around him as he continues and begins to allow his own elemental magic to enrich his voice, the wind itself adding resonance to better match the phenomenon. 

A deep rumbling voice rises to sing in return, resonating up out of the earth. Steam billows from the crevices between the icy edges of the gully and two gnomes step out from the walls. They carry pickaxes and wear goat-hide capes and leggings encrusted with ice.

Xej smiles as Vark begins singing, swaying along to the sound. If he is surprised that his suggestion was taken seriously he doesn't show it. He holds up his hands in greeting to the two gnomes and calls out.

"Hello there, friends."

Despite the apparent friendly nature of the gnomes, Thurston keeps Rikkazarik on his hand. 

"Because we are used to warmth welcomes... that's why.." he mutters to no one in particular to Xej's answer.

"Surface dwellers... you come from the town," the gnomes assert in their native tongue. Among the Acharnost, only Bründir can understand it. The intonation is as hard as dwarven, but flows like elven.

"We...uh...Aye, we come from Sheercleft." Gnomish wasn't nearly as common in Sheercleft as Dwarven, but a few small clans existed in the mines all the same like dwarves and humans. Their language was similar enough, but it had it's bits of nuance, namely from it's influence by Elvish. "I'm Bründir Halfshield, Lord by Peoples' Will. I'm o'the surface, but also th' mines of Sheercleft. We've got clans o'yer people in our tunnels, too."

"You speak for your people," one gnome intones.

"They slaughtered our brethren," continues the other.

"The weregild must be paid," they demand in unison.

Val watches the interactions with Brundir and the gnomes with growing concern. She steps up to stand alongside her dwarven companion, looking down at the newcomers. "What are they saying?"

Bründir rests a hand on the hilt of his sword, then holds out a cautioning arm towards Val, "The only ones o' my people that come near here are traders passin' t'Breanne. I've walked Sheercleft's mines o'er a century and I've never known a tunnel t'cross yer peoples'. What happened? I'll make it right."

Bründir quickly turns his head so as not to appear rude, "Trouble between Sheercleft traders and them. Some got killed, I guess. Tryin'a get us through without a fight."

"The weregild must be paid..." the gnomes mutter amongst themselves, before one declares, "a gift from the garden!"

"A bush!"

"A shrubbery!"

Thurston turns to Xej. "Did you get something from that place or not? Maybe you can put it to good use here." 

Bründir blinks a moment, dumbfounded...."Um....'Scuse us a moment, would ye? Need t'talk over how we get one t'ye."

The dwarf quickly spins on a heel, then his facade of cordial diplomacy fades away immediately, "A shrubbery. They wan'a damned bush! I'd be laughin' if I weren't miles away from 'ome."

“They want a bush? Why? Would they even be able to keep it alive?” Vark looks around at the frigid habitat, wondering what use the gnomes could possibly have for a ‘shrubbery’. “Here, what about this instead?” Vark digs through his satchel and produces a sterling silver figurine, perfectly sculpted to resemble a raven. The statue looks as if it could take flight from his hand at any moment. “I found it at the bandit camp but I don’t really have much use for it now that I can send messages with the runestone. Definitely more valuable than a bush.”

Bründir gives an uncertain nod to Vark, then turns back to the gnomes, "We...uh....don' have a shrub'ry handy, but we might get one from Sheercleft. 'Til then, will ye take a precious raven statue? It's magic, see? It'll turn real once a day if ye tell it."