Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

After breakfast a wagon pulled up outside and soldiers unloaded a few bales of trousers, quilted great-cotes, knotted woolen socks and boots. There were also belts, pouches and duffels. Deandra, Squirrel and a couple of the household got everyone lined up and equipped. They made sure that everyone got what they needed and knew to stow everything that they weren't using in the duffel.

This led to a new set of problems of course. Adult dwarves were pretty much of a size with one another, and that size was about six inches taller than these people, and more heavily built. This made the Braell look like children playing dress-up in the one-size-sort-of-fits-all uniforms. Thank the Lord and Lady for the belts, she thought.

The other difficulty was the boots, which apparently came in three sizes; too large, too small and too tight. Only about half of the former slaves were able to find a pair that would really work for them. But everyone wanted to wear their new boots even if they were ridiculously loose or painfully tight. Eventually she gave up trying to convince them not to.

“We'll need some hides,” she told Ynghilda, “and we'll add a class on boot-making to the list of things to do.”

“We're pretty much right on top of slaughtering time, so we'll have pigskin and ox-hide aplenty soon enough,” the older woman said. “Might be we can reuse the leather from the boots that don't work, too. We'll manage.”

Ynghilda looked them over and shook her head, “I think we'll need to hold off on tailoring things for the moment. These folk will be putting on weight; no sense in doing the work twice.”

“We can at least work on the length,” Deandra disagreed, “That won't change. Except for Squirrel, of course.”

Deandra looked out over the gathered Braell as they stowed their new possessions away and frowned. Something about the scene bothered her, and it took her a moment to figure out what it was.

Dressed in almost comically oversized, uniform clothing they looked all alike and a bit ridiculous. Add in their brands, the nearly identical limping and the eye lost track of the fact that they were individuals. It makes them seem childlike, she thought; the danger is in the other dwarves seeing them that way. It might be that this generation of Braell would never fully integrate into dwarven society, given their small stature, scars etc. But that did not mean their children couldn't unless they were already viewed as being 'less' than other dwarves. An underclass.

“Problem?” Ynghilda asked.

“Potentially…” Deandra said and explained her thoughts to the older woman.

“So maybe some tailoring sooner rather than later, and some different clothes as soon as we can manage,” Ynghilda said, “And we may need to rethink the idea of distributing them among existing households too; it would be too easy from them to assume the role of 'servant,' especially while they are adjusting.”

By the time everything was sorted it was lunch-time. The former slaves simply couldn't believe that they were required to stop at midday and eat more food. When they realized she was serious they were ecstatic. She was pleased by their fastidiousness as she watched them eat until she realized that it was not out of a desire to be neat. It was to make certain that no scrap, no crumb or drop of broth was wasted.

Ynghilda joined Deandra as she watched the former slaves eat.

“The army boys also dropped off a load of arms and such scavenged from the Baasgarta,” she told the younger woman, “Which included a couple of cases of thwittles and sheaths. I reckon we might hold off on passing those out for a bit.”

Thwittles were small, simple single-edged knives used for everyday chores and as an eating utensil. Everyone carried them from the time they were five or six years old, but among the Braell only the cook in each crew had one.

“I've a plan for that,” Deandra said, and explained it to the older woman.

“You've a talent for this work,” Ynghilda said, “That's going to come in right handy. We need to take note of what we're doing here, what works, what doesn't and what sort of problems we have. Remember, were going to be faced with this problem a thousand times over after the war.”

Deandra was startled by the thought.

“Not us personally!” she protested.

“No, but the folks that do could benefit from our experience,” Ynghilda said, “I'm given to understand that a party has already set out from Ironhame. You can bet they'll want to talk to us and review what we've done.”