Dinner at the Ironfoots

A peek at the dialogue between the Ironfoots, a dwarven family at the dinner table.

Smack! The sound of the front door closing in as Greythor stumbles through,

"What're you, a troll?!" Grinda, Greythor's wife barks.

"Ahh hush woman, let me rest in peace!" Greythor snarles back, after a long day of mining. Grinda gives her husband a look, conveying a message.

"Lad asleep already aye?"

"And we'll see for how long! Git up'ere and eat your dinner." Grinda pours a bowl of sludge, sliding it across the counter in Greythor's direction. It's quiet at the dinner table, Grinda takes notice at the lack of eating her husband is displaying. "What's wrong? Was it the mines again?" She asks.

"Aye, Jurin lost his pick deep within the mines as we were diggin' fer'sum Mithril. We had no choice but to git out and explain to the ward why we left our cavern. My ears still ringin' from all the hootin' an hollerin' from him." Greythor sighs, begrudgingly lifting his spoon to his mouth.

"Well git over it! We're the Ironfoots fer cryin' out loud! You bear that pick of yours and git to work for this family!" Grinda howls, a way to show her affection towards her husband. Greythor, pondering on the lovely and encouraging words of his lovely, and ever so encouraging wife,

"Aye!".

Author's Note

First piece.
Open to critique.
Enjoy!