The old man only found a similar feeling in the dwarves' hammers, but those drunkards who buried their noses in their beards haven't come for a long time. Their king doesn't want to get involved in the human disputes.
"Young man... you better leave, this is not a place you should come..." The old man gasped lightly, warning with a voice as weak as a mosquito's, "Don't think I'm trying to scare you... There's no food, you better go somewhere else..."
He seemed to forget who gave him the bread he just ate.
The man didn't care, after retrieving his kettle, he spoke softly.
"What happened here?"
Terror rose in the old man's eyes, his lips trembled as if he wanted to speak, but seemed to have exhausted his strength.
The man waited for a while, seeing the old man give no answer, he didn't press further.
He left a piece of bread tucked under the arm of the poor soul and then silently got up and left.
