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He scowled. "So that's all it is." Flint punched his fluffy
moss pillow and dropped his bushy gray head onto it. "Lay
down, take a load off your feet! Mark my words, this place
won't look so bad after you've had a good rest."
Perian stopped her fidgeting long enough to run a hand
through her damp hair. "That's just it! I can't rest here!" She
frowned and looked away, then mumbled, "If you must
know, I'm dying for a rolled mossweed!" She resumed
pacing.
"I'm sure the gully dwarves have some sort of weed you
can smoke if you must," the hill dwarf said in exasperation,
his tone telling her what he thought of the habit of smoking
dried moss. With that, he turned over again. But he could
hear her mumbling behind him.
"I know it's a disgusting habit, but it's the only one - well,
one of the only ones I have!" She chewed nervously on a
wild hank of her hair. "Some sort of weed, hmm? I'm used to
the best dwarven mix from the north warren farms in Thor-
bardin, and you expect me to smoke any old dried thing?"
Flint yawned. "I don't expect you to do anything on my
account but be quiet
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