[Amanaduial the archer]

Pulling one of the side straps on his pack as a last minute adjustment, Flori then started off, moving with the others in a herd. Behind them, the mountain was golden, lit with the sun almost behind it, and the dwarf took a last look at the mountain before firmly setting his eyes forward. His home it had been, and would always be for the good years he had spent there, but he would not let himself be distracted by frivolous pining.

A song began to rise from the other dwarves and Flori joined in, humming under his breath, the words unfamiliar to him as yet, and his voice not quite recovered from his merriment last night.

Another fell into step beside him, apparently by mistake, as the other looked completely 'away with the elves' as the saying went. Flori recognised him as the dwarf who had arrived late, and indeed he was breathing quite heavily and a look of worry was settled on his face - worry and disappointment. With whom? Flori wondered.

"Good morrow, friend. Why look so glum? Surely my company is not that unbearable, is it?" he joked, grinning, in an attempt to raise some sort of smile from underneath the gloomy expression currently in residence on the other's face. He shifted the weight of his pack slightly and held out a gloved hand. "Flori Bronzeshield, at yer service. What name do you go by?"