Sheep's Wool Rusty Nail Tavern, main hall.
Horak sat in the corner of the hall, the bowl of food on the table in front of him long replaced by two cups of fizzing ale.
Dwarf Solting sat across from him.
Because the tavern hadn't prepared chairs particularly suited for their race, the wooden chairs that allowed ordinary people to fully reveal their upper bodies were clearly uncomfortable for the stoutly-built short figure.
When sitting normally, the wooden table's edge almost reached his chest, and his hands had to lift slightly to rest properly on the table, making the whole person seem as if propped up by his own hands.
The chair creaked under his sturdy and dense physique as he rocked, appearing a bit comical.
But perhaps he was already used to it, or maybe his personality was inherently carefree, Solting didn't mind, just gulping down the ale in front of him.
Clearly, to him, being able to drink like this early in the morning was an extremely enjoyable and pleasant affair.
