The earth shook as a pair of heavy, iron-shod boots hit the ground next to Anna. Someone immensely strong and heavy had landed there. Looking upwards from the boots she could see that their owner was the dwarf, Gurthrunn. Seen up close like this Anna did not see him as short, though he was only about her height, but he looked incredibly strong. It was as if a wild bull had been thrust into a suit of chain mail designed for a twelve-year-old boy. The armour he wore bulged and stretched over a body that was just as muscular and powerful as a ferocious animal. His hands were clutched around a huge hammer, which resembled the symbol of the thunder god, Thunor.
He glanced down at Anna, nodded briefly at her then looked away and fixed the dark elves with a glare that carried no hint of mercy. Opening his mouth, he roared out a battle cry using words that Anna did not understand, and then he charged, swinging his hammer as he moved. It was a fearsome sight.
The hammer crashed into the chest of the nearest svartálfar and the creature was tossed like a doll far away into the forest. The reverse stroke smashed another elf to the ground. The dwarf moved on through the horde, bringing havoc and destruction.
Anna got to her feet, found her seax and began to follow Gurthrunn. She approached an elf who was cowering near an oak tree, his spear shaking and quivering as he watched the dwarven warrior advancing through the dark elves. Anna merely stepped towards him and with a screech of fear the elf was off, scampering away through the brambles.