A short, broad figure sat beneath a tree, looking out over the plains. An axe and mace sat beside him in a sheild, a helm resting on top of them. A cloak was rolled up behind his head. Borgin was dozing in the sun, forgetting any kind of troubles he had had recently. Eyes closed, he listened to the sounds of the wild. he could hear far off gryphons and chirrping crickets all around him. He was finaly at peace. Talking to himself, he mumbled, "Somethin probly bout to jump me right now." Opening his eyes a crack, he looked around. He could see nothing. "Good," he grunted. He was tired of fights for now. He had had a couple recently. His body ached slightly form them, even the older ones. He began to let his mind wander.

About a year and a half ago, he had been sleeping under a tree like this. he had been with Gwerinarie then. She had been an elf, odd enough. Dwarves and elves ussualy had a giant rift between them, but Borgin had found himself attracked to her. They had traveled together for a good two years, growing closer than just friends. Then one morning, just like those fool human stories always went, she was gone. he had searched for her for a good six months, but never found a whiff. Something else out of those bloody stories. That had made him mad. He had never realy gotten over it, but he had burried it deep under other emotions. He began to snore a bit as sleep came on.

Shaking his head, he snapped his eyes open. He didn't feel like going to sleep just yet. His body might, but not him. Groaning, he stood up and stretched. "Bloody memories," he grumbled.

Walking silenty through the plains, Amy, a woman with light complexion and with what people would say, sea green eyes, along with long brown hair. She was beautiful, but anybody that had met her before, could not tell it was Amy. This was because of a recent incident. She was exploring her surroundings very slowly. There were a lot of trees. Black and white, different shades. Amy did not know what colors where, the only colors she knew of were different shades of black and white.

Some birds chirped as she turned her head and her eyes fell upon a nest of birds on a tree branch. The mother feeding her babies, chirping in joy. Amy simply looked at them for a few moments, and then turned her head back. Off into the distance, she saw a particulary short man sitting by a tree, his lips moved, with nobody else around. Was he talking to himself?

When he got up, she continued looking at him. He seemed like one of those grumpy, short, big, men. Dwarves, she believed they were called. Yes, dwarves.

Borgin scratched at his near three foot beard and looked around. In the distance he saw a person walking along alone. From the looks of it, it was a woman. And human. Probably just some lone traveler, or lost lady. Either one didn't realy interest Borgin. He would talk if she decided to come to him, but he wasn't in the mood to walk around just yet. Popping his knuckles, he turned and sat down under the tree again. Sighing, he rested his head against the bark, looking upward inot the sky. He yawned and fought to keep his eyes open, still fighting sleep.

An exasperated sigh escaped his lips, and Borgin rose to his feet. Turning toward where he had seen the woman, he reached for his sheild, weapons, and cloak. fastening his cloak around his kneck, he swung the sheild onto hos back and placed his mace on top of it. He sliped his throwing axe into its hoop and picked up his helm, fastening it to his belt. Rolling his shoulders again, he made his way toward the woman.