and we shall return to the earth
Golems were a myth, and old tale, a testament to a dwarf’s pride in his ancestry. Soldiers, crafted from mud and clay and stone. Just like the dwarves.
They were tales that Bruin had grown up on, like every other child in the Northern Hills. Sometimes, when he was alone, he’d slip out the door and run to his Place, and spend hours perfecting his little clay man. When he was finished, he’d act as if to breathe life into it, just like the old stories said that Archelaos, the god-king, had done with his golems. And the he would giggle at the ridiculousness of it and scamper back home, dirty and mud-covered, just in time for dinner.
Once, though- it worked. Bruin closed his eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling onto the little clay man. He sat there for a moment, eyes closed, as something stirred in his hand.
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