Yorvig avoided the forge for a couple days. But, in the morning of the third day, he gathered them all together for a meeting.

“We have more ore to smelt than we have charcoal to burn it with,” he said. By focusing their energies on mining ore with hunting trips two or three times a week, they had made progress.

“We will need to burn another mound-kiln when we run out,” Hobblefoot said.

“There is little snow yet, but if we wait until our charcoal is gone, we may have feet of the stuff to dig through. Then our work would be even more difficult.”

“So you want to charcoal now?”

“Ay, for the next two weeks.”

“Then we can get back to mining,” Hobblefoot said. The dwarf had been in glory working the drifts and stopes as they pursued the ore deeper into the ridge. He had over a decade more experience than Yorvig, so often Yorvig sought his counsel and deferred to him in mining decisions. Being rinlen didn't make it wise for Yorvig to disregard such experience. At other times, though:

“No,” Yorvig said.

“What no?”

“We need to prepare for the arrival of the company in early summer.”

“We can’t feed them all ourselves,” Warmcoat said. The lump on the side of his head had gone; all that was left was a scabbed split in his ear. “Aren’t they bringing flocks, anyway?”

“I’m not talking about feeding them,” Yorvig said. “I’m talking about accommodations. We need to divide up the stone and prepare tunnels for stoneholds.”

“You’re not going to give them all fifties, are you?” Hobblefoot asked.

“I think the regular miner’s tens will do, and twenty-fives for families.”

“So we need to make tunnels for divisions. Alright,” Warmcoat said. “That should not take all winter.”

“There are also storerooms, a new and greater smeltery, workshops, and a vault. And compost pits.”

The dwarves each kept a small bucket for their own waste, and with few in number, it was not difficult to dispose of it in the dell. With the possibility of more arrivals, they needed to dig pits. In Deep Cut, lime was scattered atop the dung to keep down the smell, but they had been using charcoal and wood ash for lack of lime. Pits were rotated to allow the composted dung to be used as fertilizer, after a time.

Hobblefoot raised his palms and looked around.

"I do not wish to say it. But are we. . . Are we sure they will return?"

Here it was.

No one answered. Yorvig waited to see if Hobblefoot would follow through on the thought.

“Well,” Hobblefoot said at length. “We don’t know there will be a company this summer.”

Again, no one replied. Hobblefoot looked at Yorvig, eyebrow raised. “You know it,” he said. His face was flushed red. "Both our brothers."

“I know that we don’t know.”

“They were only gone nine days. The pass westward that we took. . . It must be ninety miles or more away.”

“They did not have over-heavy burdens,” Warmcoat said. "They could have made such a distance in good time."

“Ay, but if the ürsi were coming north while they were going south?"

“We have all done our sums—” Yorvig said, his voice a little raised. The others fell quiet. “—but we do not know.”

Onyx had remained silent for the whole discussion, watching and listening.

“It seems an awful lot of labor for an uncertainty," Hobblefoot went on. "By mining, if we must abandon this place because of ürsi, then we could go back to Deep Cut beyond wealthy and organize a new expedition. More dwarves and more supplies.”

Yorvig couldn’t deny there was some sense in that.

“That might be. And if no one comes in the summer, it may be that we have our answer and should prepare to return to Deep Cut. Until then, let us hope for the best.”

That was it. The choice was hope. He looked around, waiting for more protest, but none came. It still felt strange to him, being rinlen of these dwarves, but the longer it lasted, the easier they capitulated to his decisions—even hard ones. He spent long hours thinking about these conversations before they happened, considering how each one might react. They still surprised him from time to time, but it helped him prepare. “Now, as for the charcoaling—”

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“I wish to—” Onyx began, but Yorvig had already raised his hand to cut her off; he’d seen her leaning forward to speak.

“No,” he said to her. “You will not be smelting and working at your forge during this labor. We need all hands. You will work like the rest of us, and I will hear no complaints.”

Greal snorted with laughter. Onyx leaned back, her eyes wide in surprise. Yorvig went on:

“Two will remain at the claim at all times. It will be done by daily rotation. Greal and Onyx will be together—“ Yorvig saw a flash of disappointment cross Hobblefoot’s face at this, but no one could gainsay the propriety of it “—Hobblefoot and Warmcoat together, and I will stay with the labor until the charcoaling is done. Those left in the mine will delve according to our plans for the company.” Yorvig looked around, but no one spoke. “So be it. Now, this is what I have been thinking.” Yorvig pulled out a wide piece of rolled up birch-bark and spread it out. It was marked with a map of the claim drawn in charcoal, in keeping with the methods of Deep Cut miners. For the next hour, Yorvig considered suggestions for the best way to lay out the needed additions to their claim. Most considerations they agreed upon, and by the end, they all felt the revised map represented the best option for both the immediate future and expansion.

They all rose to leave. Onyx stood, folded her arms, and stared at Yorvig hard. He knew she wished to speak with him, and so he held back as the others filed out of the smithy, heading to prepare for their respective labors.

“You’re a branna, Chargrim rinlen,” Onyx said. Branna was a word used for an irritating young gilke.

“Don’t let anyone hear you calling the rinlen branna. That cannot be tolerated in a mine,” Yorvig said, but couldn't help a smirk. Apprentice miners were known to mutter plenty of names under their breath, but not to the rinlen's face.

“I was going to ask to join the labor. You made me a spectacle.”

“Nothing is hidden in a mine like this. It is all a spectacle."

Onyx laughed.

“So you think, rinlen. So you think.”

Yorvig shrugged and turned to leave.

“Wait,” she said, and walked over to the stone worktable. “You may need this outside.” There was a pelt lying there. He hadn’t thought much of it. She pulled it away. Lying upon the stone was his walking hammer, but it had been re-worked. The cedar remained, but much finer working of steel had been fitted to it, both upon the head and in banding down the handle, culminating in a cap at the end. The steel upon the length of the handle had been inset, leaving ridges enough to give a solid grip. A new three-spined spike protruded from the top, and the beak was hooked and wicked. Yorvig picked it up, feeling the slight change in weight and balance. It was surely better. The hammerhead was gilded with fine etchings of gold and speaking runes.

“I cannot read the runes,” he whispered. He knew cave runes just fine. There was some overlap, but speaking runes were known more among merchants and fine crafters, not miners.

“On this side, rinlen,” Onyx said, pointing. “And on this side, branna.”

Onyx broke into fresh laughter when she saw his expression. “No, no!” she said. “It says Treadfoot, and may it tread down many foes. I have few runes, but enough for that.”

“Thank you.”

Onyx nodded. He stared at the weapon as she watched him.

“Well,” she said. “I must prepare for charcoaling.”

They extended the charcoal burning for an additional week, until swirling snow flurries turned to a heavy pack and their breath spewed into the cold air, blown by harsh winds. Smoke rose from mud-brick chimneys and they smelled wood-smoke even when they lay down to sleep in the claim.

Because they had no dry wood, they searched out fallen trees in the valley just to the north of the ridge, and it was great labor cutting and hauling them to the earthen mound. They scrounged more than a dozen full fallen logs, and some more wood left in tangles by the river floods. They added countless broken limbs to that pile. In all, they estimated they had at least thirty tons of wood. At best, it would produce six tons of charcoal, probably less. But as soon as it was burning, they cut down many trees above the flood lines along the river to let them dry for next year.

They hauled the charcoal up the dell, an awful toil on wooden sledges, but at last they lifted it in buckets to the High Adit.

“We need a room just for storing coal,” Hobblefoot said. “We need to add that to the plans.”

“As close to the smithy as possible,” Onyx said. There was a smudge of black soot up her nose between her eyes.

“And we need a decent hoist,” Warmcoat added, drinking from a stone-carved flagon of water heated over the fire. A clutch of rill-eye they’d taken from the weir boiled there. “Maybe something powered by the waterwheel.”

“Ay, yes. We need all this and more,” Yorvig said.

The snow came heavy that year, and the cold was deeper. The river froze over, except for a dark streak in the center where the water flowed fast. All the while, the dwarves worked within their mine, only venturing out to hunt or to cut more firewood. They cut a new drift running parallel with the cliff face, with marked spots for workshops and smelters on the cliffside so they could drive vents to open air. Onyx’s lanterns burned with the fish oil they’d made from the summer’s weir catches as they broke rock and drilled vents and sent the beginnings of drifts reaching into the ridge. There were more sections marked for storerooms on the inner side of the new drift. Behind, they began two more drifts for living quarters. In the wide stope that they had emptied of gold ore, they carved steps leading up to the High Adit drift, and they squared off the floor and the support pillars. It would serve as a gathering hall.

New snow fell on old, packing down and forming a dense crust. Then a melt came, leaving only ridges of icy debris and sending the river into flood above a sheet of ice. The temperature plummeted and it snowed again. It did not worry them. At most, it fatigued them sooner when they hunted. Yet in hunting they were fortunate, able to see in the snow what trails the beasts were using and so lie in wait nearby. Yorvig felt that they were reaching a point where they could balance survival with labor in the mine, even with just the four of them. At least until their clothes fell apart and they must go about in hides. Still, they needed to get as far ahead as they could for when the company arrived. In his few spare hours, Yorvig finished his own small chamber, enough to keep his meagre personal effects with an alcove to sleep between pelts. Striper claimed it as her own.