“Dwarven baby sleeps like anvil. Wait shit, that is anvil. Where is baby?”
Hroogar the Mighty removed the swaddling to make certain. Yes. It was the actual anvil that she used for the head of her war-hammer. The handle lay innocently right next to Nagdar the Sorcerer’s staff, where it would get looked over by the casual eye.
Hroogar breathed deeply and slowly, lest she fly into a berserker rage and lay waste to everything she could see. For all she knew, that qualification also included the infant dwarven scion currently in their alleged care.
Nagdar was doing his meditation, doubtless preparing explosive runes. Elwyn the Bard was noodling some meditation music on her lyre. Which Hroogar was secretly glad of, for a change. It kept her mind together. Beltar was on her prayer mat, doing her daily devotion to the moon goddess.
Which left Tantethra suspicious by her absence.
Hroogar tasted the air. Finding only the slightest hint of the Rogue’s scent. Of course. Tantethra used all sorts of unguents and oils to obliterate her smell. Hroogar used every inch of her barbarian instincts to find the path of not-smell and obscured footprints that marked Tantethra’s ghostlike passage.
Which lead her to a meadow where, apparently, Tantethra had taken off most of her clothes so she could cuddle the baby.
The very nearly undressed baby.
“There, now,” Tantethra cooed. “Much better, hmm? You needed a little sun for that poor, red bottom, didn’t you. I told them. Fresh, clean water and a little sunshine and skin-to-skin cuddles. It’s aaalllll you needed…”
“Warning be good, too,” rumbled Hroogar. It wasn’t often that she got the drop on Tantethra, so she enjoyed the moment.
“What’s the point of warning you?” Tantethra pretended to be entirely un-bothered. The effort lacked much. “You’d only stop me.”
“You wanting cuddles, you say.”
“I did. You said no.”