Later that morning.
"Leader…"
"Yeah, I know," the dwarf commander replied, voice heavy but steady. "We're all hungry. Still tired. But today's the same as yesterday."
He looked over his stubborn, grimy people—still standing, still fighting.
"We have morning soup. Dried meat boiled in water, some spice and salt—enough for everyone."
No one complained. They simply nodded.
"But we hold this stronghold," the leader continued, slamming his fist gently against the stone wall. "We defend against the halfling advance. No matter what."
"Yes, leader."
Then he added, "We're luckier than the other two strongholds. They're facing wyvern attacks from above."
A few dwarves muttered curses softly.
"If some of us were stationed there…"
"I'm sure we'd have lost many. Probably most."
"Exactly. So be grateful," the leader said. "That's why the rations are here. That's why we're still breathing."
They nodded again. Tired but understanding.
Surviving one more day. Holding one more wall.
