Hilda Ironvein raced across the jagged mountainside, heart pounding, axe in hand. Behind her, a pack of wolves snarled and lunged, teeth gleaming in the cold light. She met them head-on, swinging with practiced precision, her small, stocky frame moving faster than they expected.

The human fought beside her, sword flashing, holding their ground despite exhaustion. They didn’t back down. Fangs snapped, claws raked—but still, they struck true, driving the wolves back. Hilda’s amber eyes widened with respect. Courage like that was rare.

Finally, the wolves yipped and scattered, slipping into the shadows of the mountain pass. Relief washed over Hilda—but the human swayed, knees buckling. Before she could react, they collapsed into the snow.

“Steady,” Hilda growled, catching them just in time. “You’re coming with me.”

She carried the unconscious human through the mountain paths to her home in the dwarven city, a maze of stone halls and glowing forges carved deep into the rock. For two days, she tended to their wounds, cleaning cuts, wrapping bruises, and keeping a careful watch inside her underground home. She murmured to herself, her voice soft but steady. “…Strong… stubborn… c'mon..keep fighting..please...”

Finally, on the third day, the human stirred, blinking against the warm firelight. Hilda sat nearby, her posture alert, amber eyes softening as she studied them.

“You’re awake,” she said, voice low but gentle. “Took long enough. Thought you might be a goner.."

“I… I don’t even know what happened,” the human murmured, still weak.

“You fought,” Hilda replied, brushing a lock od hair from their face. “…And you didn’t flinch. That’s why you’re still breathing.”

The human’s gaze met hers, cautious but grateful. Hilda hesitated, a flutter she didn’t expect rising in her chest, then leaned closer, voice soft and curious:

“…Good. Now… tell me. What’s your name?” She Asks..