Paks had never met a dwarf, and did not know that this introduction was normal. She was trying to remember it all when the question came, and for a moment did not answer. The dwarves waited patiently. "I am not of the Fellowship of Gird," she said finally.

"But you are here," said the darker dwarf. "How is it that you are here?"

"I was offered a time of training here," said Paks carefully, "because of something I had done."

"Ah." Another pause. Finally the yellow-bearded dwarf, Balkis, asked, "Is it that we might know your clan?"

Paks realized, belatedly, that she had not responded to his introduction with her name. "I'm Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter, of Three Firs."

An exchange of dwarvish followed this. Balkis spoke in Common again. "Please—is it that Three Firs is a clan? We do not know this name."

"No, Three Firs is the village nearest my father's home. It is far from here, to the north."

"Ah. And your father is Dorthan, but of what clan?"

Paks wondered how to explain. "Sir, my father's father was Kanas Jorisson, but I do not think we have the same kind of clans you do—"

Both dwarves laughed loudly. "Indeed, you would not! No—no, you would not. But some men think they have clans as we do, and give themselves names for them, and if you were such then we wished no insult by failing to acknowledge that name." Then Balkis leaned back on his heels, watching her. "What is it that you did, to make a hurt the weaponsmaster would not heal?"

Paks looked down. "I—cut myself."

"Yes, but—" He stopped, and leaned close to place his face before her. "I would not have you to think that it is our nature to be inquisitive."

Abruptly, Paks found herself grinning. "Oh, no," she said. "I wouldn't think that."

"Good. But we have to study men, who come into our rocks and want things of us. So it is that you will tell us what is that cut?"

"I was trying to use an axe," said Paks slowly. "And I became angry, and struck too hard, and cut my leg."

"Ah. Angry with an axe is dangerous."

"So I found," said Paks ruefully.

"And this the weaponsmaster found badly done, is it so?"

"Yes. And I was rude." She wondered why she was telling them, but their interest seemed to pull it out of her.

"Rude—to a Marshal." Suddenly the darker one loosed a volley of dwarvish, and both of them began to quiver. Paks looked up to see their eyes sparkling with mischief. "You fear not Marshals?"

"I—" Paks shook her head. "I should fear them more. I was here as a guest, and my rudeness will cost my place."

"Ha!" Balkis nodded. "They are as a clan of adoption, and you are not adopted. So it is they can be unjust."