They had much to do in strengthening their defenses, in licking their wounds and organizing their forces, but Bruenor took heart that in his absence, Mithral Hall had been well guided.
But while his confidence in his clan and home held strong, the other issue, that of a lost friend, played heavily on the crusty dwarf's heart.
"The elf's out there," he muttered again, shaking his head. His face brightened as he looked to Catti-brie, Wulfgar, and Regis in turn. "But I'm knowing a way out o' here and a way to get him back in."
"Ye cannot be thinking o' going out there!" Cordio Muffmhead scolded, and he stormed up to Bruenor's side. "Ye just got back to us, and ye're not for wandering—!"
He almost finished the sentence, until Bruenor's backhand sent him stumbling against the wall.
"Ye hear me, and ye hear me good," Bruenor told them all. "I seen the other side now, and I'm back with a mouth full o' spit on this. Ye call me yer king, and yer king I'll be—but I'm a king doing things me own way."
Bruenor looked back to his three dear friends and added, "The elf's still out there."
"Then maybe we should go get him," Regis replied.
Catti-brie and Wulfgar exchanged determined looks, then turned to regard Regis and Bruenor.
So it was agreed.
* * *
On a high bluff on a windblown mountainside, the dark elf watched the sunset. He wondered about the personal relevance of that image, of the light sinking behind a dark line. The change of day and, perhaps, of a chapter in the life of Drizzt Do'Urden.
He was an elf, yes, as Innovindil had reminded. He would see many sunsets, unless an enemy blade laid him low.
Merely thinking of that very real possibility forced a resigned grin to the drow's lips. Perhaps it would be such for him, as it had been for his friends, as it had been, before his very eyes, for poor Tarathiel. But it would not happen, he vowed silently then and there, until he had paid back the ugly orc, Obould Many-Arrows.
For all of it.